EX-C,P.O,  U.S.  NAVY 


Awarded  the  Croix 

for  distinguished  service  with  the 

French  at  Gallipoli.  Wreath 

by  holders  of  the  Croix 

Crossed  Cannon:  received 
with  commission  as  gunner 
in  the  Foreign  Legioir 

Three  Bars  :  2 
Awarded  by  Captain  of 
ihe  Trench  battleship 
C&ssarcf  for  ex- 
tra marksmanships 


Two  Bars : 

'show  rank  of 
first-class 
gunner 


Casualty  Stripes: 
twice  wounded--at 
Diximide  and  trie 
Dardanelles 


-& 


/?/r 


6 


Gunner   Depew 


Gunner  Depew 

An  American  Sailor's 
Story  of  the  War 

Fighting  with  the  Foreign  Legion 
at  Dixmude  —  Gunner  on  the 
French  Battleship  Cassard- 
Fighting  the  Turks  at  the  Dar- 
danelles—  In  the  trenches  at 
Gallipoli — Winning  the  Croix  de 
Guerre  —  Wounded  and  sent  to 
France. 

Later  : 

Captured  by  the  German  Raider 
Moewe — Transferred  to  the 
Tarrowdale  and  landed  in  Ger- 
many—  Three  months  of  starva- 
tion and  torture  in  German  Prison 
Camps. 

Finally  : 

An  interview  with  Mr.  Gerard  — 
Anxious  waiting  —  Freedom  ! 


Gunner  Depew  tells  an  amazing  story  of  what  he 
did  —  what  he  saw  —  what  he  endured  —  in  two 
years  packed  solid  with  fighting  on  land  and  sea. 

A  thrilling  picture  is  presented  of  the  fighting  at 
Dixmude  —  atGallipoli — at  the  Dardanelles.  The 
description  of  the  Yarrowdale,  with  its  cargo  of 
human  wretchedness,  is  the  first  complete  account 
written  by  an  American  who  lived  through  the  in- 
describable horror  of  the  eighteen  days  at  sea. 
And  then,  the  story  of  those  grim  three  months 
spent  in  German  Prison  Camps  —  a  wonderfully 
vivid  picture  of  the  inhuman  cruelty  with  which  the 
Huns  treat  their  prisoners-of-war. 


A  big  thrilling  story  of  a 
wonderful  fighting  record 
—  and  absolutely  true. 


Gunner  Depew 


By 

Albert    N.    Depew 

Ex-Gunner  and  Chief  Petty  Officer,  U.  S.  Navy 

Member  of  the  Foreign  Legion  of  France 

Captain  Gun  Turret,  French  Battleship  Cassard 

Winner  of  the  Croix  de  Guerre 


With  Maps  and  Illustrations 

Chicago 

The    Reilly    8C    Britton    Co 
1918 


Copyright,  1918 

by 
The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co. 


All  Rights  Reserved 


Made  in  U.  S.  A. 

Published  March  1,  1918 

Second  Printing,  March  5,  1918 


Dedicated 
by  permission  to 

Mr.  James  W.  Gerard 

who  was  strong  for  the  men 
in  the  German  prison  camps, 
and  was  a  real  friend  to  me. 


PREFACE 

Until  I  had  been  in  Chicago  for  some  time  talk- 
ing about  my  war  experiences,  I  never  had  any 
idea  of  writing  a  book.  It  was  about  the  last 
thing  in  the  world  I  ever  thought  of  doing.  But 
people  who  heard  me  talk  always  wondered  why 
I  didn't.  Then,  a  chap  who  had  been  "  over 
there  "  and  written  about  it,  said,  "Oh!  You 
can  do  it!  "  So  I  began  to  take  observations, 
as  you  might  say. 

One  man  said  there  was  nothing  to  it  but  to 
just  write  down  all  about  the  places  I  had  been, 
everything  I'd  seen  or  heard,  and  everything 
that  had  happened  to  me.  Some  job,  as  I  found 
out. 

Well,  anyhow,  I've  done  it,  and  I  found  I 
remembered  more  things  than  I  thought  I  could 
—  some  things  I'd  just  as  lief  forget.  I'm  not 
a  writer,  but  I  have  done  the  best  I  could,  and 
I  hope  you  will  like  my  book. 

I  want  to  thank  all  the  people  who  have  been 
so  good  to  me  since  my  return  to  America. 
Somehow,  I  never  seem  to  know  just  how  to  do 
it  when  I  see  them. 

A.  N.  D. 

Chicago,  February,  1918. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    IN  THE  AMERICAN  NAVY 13 

II    THE  WAR  BREAKS 21 

III  IN  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 29 

IV  ON  THE  FIRING  LINE 39 

V    WITH  THE  "  75  's  " 53 

VI  FRITZ  DOES  A  LITTLE  "  STRAFEING  J:     65 

VII    STOPPING  THE  HUNS  AT  DIXMUDE 80 

VIII    ON  RUNNER  SERVICE 93 

IX    LAID  UP  FOR  REPAIRS 103 

X    HELL  AT  GALLIPOLI 119 

XI    ACTION  AT  THE  DARDANELLES. 130 

XII    A  PAL  CRUCIFIED - 148 

XIII  LIMEYS,  ANZACS  AND  POILUS  ... 161 

XIV  THE  CROIX  DE  GUERRE 172 

XV    JE  Suis  BLESSE. 187 

XVI    CAPTURED  BY  THE  MOEWE 198 

XVII    LANDED  IN  GERMANY 216 

XVHI  "PACK  UP  YOUR  TROUBLES—"...  232 

XIX    GERMAN  PRISON  CAMPS 247 

XX    KULTUR  — THE  REAL  STUFF 258 

XXI    A  VISIT  FROM  MR.  GERARD 271 

XXII  "  THE  HELL  HOLE  OF  GERMANY  "...   284 

XXIII  DESPAIR  —  AND  FREEDOM  ....... 294 

XXIV  BACK  IN  THE  STATES..  .307 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Gunner  Depew Frontispiece 

1 '  How  we  give  'em  the  butt  " 65 

Map :  Gallipoli  and  the  Dardanelles 121 

Gunner  Depew  in  French  sailor  uniform 129 

Map :  French  Position  on  Gallipoli  Peninsula  151 
Map  of  Europe,  showing  Gunner  Depew 's 

route:  January,  1915,  to  June,  1917 161 

Deck  Plan  of  the  Raider  Moewe 207 

Postcard  sent  by  Gunner  Depew 257 

Mr.  Gerard  and  Gunner  Depew. 281 

Sketch  of  Brandenburg  Prison  Camp 289 

Seaman's  Identification  Certificate..  .  309 


Gunner  Depew 

CHAPTER  I 
IN  THE  AMERICAN  NAVY 

My  father  was  a  seaman,  so,  naturally,  all  my 
life  I  heard  a  great  deal  about  ships  and  the  sea, 
Even  when  I  was  a  little  boy,  in  Walston,  Penn- 
sylvania, I  thought  about  them  a  whole  lot  and 
wanted  to  be  a  sailor  —  especially  a  sailor  in  the 
U.  S.  Navy. 

You  might  say  I  was  brought  up  on  the  water. 
As  far  back  as  I  can  remember,  I  was  a  good 
swimmer.  When  my  mother  and  I  were  living  in 
Walston  and  she  wanted  me  for  anything,  she 
always  sent  down  to  the  creek  for  me,  because  she 
knew  if  I  was  not  at  home,  I  would  be  in  swim- 
ming. Then,  in  Yonkers,  there  was  a  pier  at  the 
Yerks  and  Company  docks  that,  with  the  lumber 
piled  on  it,  was  seventy-five  feet  above  the  Hud- 
son, and  I  used  to  dive  off  it  many  times  each 
day  in  the  summer.  This  was  when  I  was  about 
eleven  years  old. 

When  I  was  twelve  years  old  I  went  to  sea 
as  cabin  boy  on  the  whaler  Therifus,  out  of 
Boston.  She  was  an  old  square-rigged  sailing 
ship,  built  more  for  work  than  for  speed.  We 

13 


14  Gunner  Depew 

were  out  four  months  on  my  first  cruise,  and 
got  knocked  around  a  lot,  especially  in  a  storm 
on  the  Newfoundland  Banks,  where  we  lost  our 
instruments,  and  had  a  hard  time  navigating 
the  ship.  I  got  knocked  around,  too,  for  there 
was  a  big  whaler  aboard,  who  used  to  beat  me 
up  almost  every  day.  He  thought  I  did  not 
put  on  enough  style  in  bringing  the  grub  to  the 
forecastle.  I  was  not  a  very  fancy  waiter,  I 
guess.  Later  on,  I  often  used  to  think  of  that 
big  bruiser  when  I  was  in  the  navy  and  my  fists 
were  making  a  reputation  for  themselves.  Whal- 
ing crews  work  on  shares,  and  during  the  two 
years  I  was  on  the  Therifus,  my  shares  amounted 
to  fourteen  hundred  dollars. 

Then  I  shipped  as  first-class  wheelsman  on 
the  British  tramp  Southerndown,  a  twin-screw 
steamer  out  of  Liverpool.  Many  people  are 
surprised  that  a  fourteen  year  old  boy  should 
be  wheelsman  on  an  ocean-going  craft,  but  all 
over  the  world  you  will  see  young  lads  doing 
their  trick  at  the  wheel.  On  a  sailing  ship  like 
the  Therifus,  they  have  four  men  to  the  wheel; 
on  a  steamer,  one;  it  is  the  steam  steering  gear 
that  makes  the  difference.  I  was  on  the  South- 
erndown  two  years,  and  in  that  time  visited  most 
of  the  important  ports  of  Europe  —  Spezia, 
Bilbao,  Cadiz,  Brest,  Liverpool,  Odessa,  Arch- 
angel, Hamburg,  Rotterdam.  There  is  nothing 
like  a  tramp  steamer  if  you  want  to  see  the 
world.  The  Southerndown  is  the  vessel  that,  in 
the  fall  of  1917,  sighted  a  German  U-boat  rigged 
up  like  a  sailing  ship. 


In  the  American  Navy  15 

Although  I  liked  visiting  the  foreign  ports, 
I  got  tired  of  the  Southerndown  after  a  while, 
and  at  the  end  of  a  voyage  which  landed  me  in 
New  York,  I  decided  to  get  into  the  United 
States  Navy.  After  laying  around  for  a  week 
or  two,  I  enlisted  and  was  assigned  to  duty  as 
a  second-class  fireman. 

People  have  said  they  thought  I  was  pretty 
small  to  be  a  fireman:  they  have  the  idea  that 
firemen  must  be  big  men.  Well,  I  am  5  ft.  Ty2 
in.  in  height,  and  when  I  was  sixteen,  I  was 
just  as  tall  as  I  am  now  and  weighed  168  pounds. 
I  was  a  whole  lot  huskier  then,  too,  for  that  was 
before  my  introduction  to  kultur  in  German 
prison  camps,  and  life  there  is  not  exactly  fat- 
tening—  not  exactly.  I  do  not  know  why  it  is, 
but  if  you  will  notice  the  navy  firemen  —  the 
lads  with  the  red  stripes  around  their  left  shoul- 
ders—  you  will  find  that  almost  all  of  them 
are  small  men.  But  they  are  a  husky  lot. 

Now,  in  the  navy,  they  always  haze  a  new- 
comer until  he  shows  that  he  can  take  care  of 
himself,  and  I  got  mine  very  soon  after  I  went 
into  Uncle  Sam's  service.  I  was  washing  my 
clothes  in  a  bucket  on  the  forecastle  deck,  and 
every  garby  (sailor)  who  came  along  would  give 
me  or  the  bucket  a  kick,  and  spill  one  or  the 
both  of  us.  Each  time  I  would  move  to  some 
other  place,  but  I  always  seemed  to  be  in  some- 
body's way.  Finally,  I  saw  a  marine  coming. 
I  was  nowhere  near  him,  but  he  hauled  out  of 
his  course  to  come  up  to  me  and  gave  the  bucket 


16  Gunner  Depew 

a  boot  that  sent  it  twenty  feet  away,  at  the 
same  time  handing  me  a  clout  on  the  ear  that 
just  about  knocked  me  down.  Now,  I  did  not 
exactly  know  what  a  marine  was,  and  this  fel- 
low had  so  many  stripes  on  his  sleeves  that  I 
thought  he  must  be  some  sort  of  officer,  so  I 
just  stood  by.  There  was  a  gold  stripe  (com- 
missioned officer)  on  the  bridge  and  I  knew  that 
if  anything  was  wrong,  he  would  cut  in,  so  I 
kept  looking  up  at  him,  but  he  stayed  where 
he  was,  looking  on,  and  never  saying  a  word. 
And  all  the  time  the  marine  kept  slamming  me 
about  and  telling  me  to  get  the  hell  out  of  there. 

Finally  I  said  to  myself,  "  I'll  get  this  guy 
if  it's  the  brig  for  a  month."  So  I  planted  him 
one  in  the  kidneys  and  another  in  the  mouth, 
and  he  went  clean  up  against  the  rail.  But  he 
came  back  at  me  strong,  and  we  were  at  it  for 
some  time. 

But  when  it  was  over,  the  gold  stripe  came 
down  from  the  bridge  and  shook  hands  with  me! 

After  this  they  did  not  haze  me  much,  except 
for  the  regular  gags,  like  tying  a  sleeping  man's 
feet  to  his  hammock,  such  as  you  have  got  to 
expect,  and  which  you  pull  off  on  the  next  man 
when  his  turn  comes.  This  was  the  beginning 
of  a  certain  reputation  that  I  had  in  the  navy 
for  fist-work.  Later  on  I  had  a  reputation  for 
swimming,  too.  That  first  day  they  began  call- 
ing me  "  Chink,"  though  I  don't  know  why, 
and  it  has  been  my  nickname  in  the  navy  ever 
since. 

It  is  a  curious  thing,  and  I  never  could  under- 


In  the  American  Navy  17 

stand  it,  but  garbles  and  marines  never  mix. 
The  marines  are  good  men  and  great  fighters, 
aboard  and  ashore,  but  we  garbies  never  have 
a  word  for  them,  nor  they  for  us.  On  shore 
leave  abroad,  we  pal  up  with  foreign  garbies, 
even,  but  hardly  ever  with  a  marine.  Of  course, 
they  are  with  us  strong  in  case  we  have  a  scrap 
with  a  liberty  party  off  some  foreign  ship  — 
they  can  not  keep  out  of  a  fight  any  more  than 
we  can — but  after  it  is  over,  they  are  on  their 
way  at  once  and  we  on  ours.  The  only  other 
navy  that  has  a  marine  corps  is  the  British, 
although  the  French  have  a  Marine  Infantry 
that  garrisons  ports,  but  does  not  serve  aboard 
ships.  The  British  call  their  men  the  Royal 
Marine  Light  Infantry,  and  a  Limey  garb  told 
me  it  was  the  same  way  with  them.  They  keep 
to  themselves,  and  the  Limey  garbies  do  the 
same.  But  he  did  not  know  why,  either.  He 
said  it  always  had  been  that  way  in  their  navy, 
and  I  have  heard  it  always  has  been  with  us. 
There  are  lots  of  things  like  that  in  the  navy 
that  you  can  not  figure  out  the  reason  for,  and 
I  think  it  is  because  sailors  change  their  ways 
so  little.  They  do  a  great  many  things  in  the 
navy  because  the  navy  always  has  done  them. 
I  never  saw  an  old  garby  who  wasn't  always 
telling  the  young  ones  what  things  were  like  in 
his  day  and  advising  them  to  do  as  he  did. 
Of  course,  sailors  have  changed  a  lot  since  the 
days  of  the  sailing  ships,  because  their  work 
is  so  different,  and  sailors  will  change  when 
ships  change;  but  ships  change  more  than  sail- 


18  Gunner  Depew 

ors.    And  I  think  it  always  will  be  that  way. 

A  little  while  ago  I  spoke  of  a  British  sailor 
as  a  "  Limey."  The  old  British  ships  used  to 
carry  large  quantities  of  lime  juice  aboard, 
because  they  thought  it  was  a  cure  for  the 
scurvy.  So,  all  over  the  world,  British  ships 
are  called  "  Lime- juicers  "  and  their  sailors 
"  Limeys."  There  is  a  saying  in  the  merchant 
marine  that  the  bucko  mate  of  a  Lime-juicer 
is  the  toughest  guy  in  the  world,  but  tjiey  do 
not  think  so  in  the  navy. 

I  kept  strictly  on  the  job  as  a  fireman,  but  I 
wanted  to  get  into  the  gun  turrets.  It  was  slow 
work  for  a  long  time.  I  had  to  serve  as  second- 
class  fireman  for  four  months,  first-class  for  eight 
months,  and  in  the  engine  room  as  water-tender 
for  a  year. 

Then,  after  serving  on  the  U.  S.  S.  Des  Moines 
as  a  gun-loader,  I  was  transferred  to  the  Iowa, 
and  finally  worked  up  to  a  gun-pointer.  After 
a  time  I  got  my  C.  P.  0.  rating  —  chief  petty 
officer,  first-class  gunner. 

During  my  four  years  in  the  American  navy  I 
won  three  cups  in  swimming  races.  The  first 
was  in  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  race  from  Battery  Park, 
New  York  City,  to  the  Statute  of  Liberty.  I 
had  to  join  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  to  get  in  the  race. 
I  won  my  second  cup  in  London  in  a  two-mile 
race  in  the  Thames,  starting  from  Tilbury  Docks. 
There  were  about  seventy  men  in  this  race, 
which  was  held  by  the  Lamport  &  Holt  and  the 
Atlantic  Transport  Lines.  Then,  at  Brest,  the 
French  and  American  fleets  held  a  race,  and  I 


In  the  American  Navy  19 

won  my  third  cup.  I  understand  there  were 
four  hundred  men  in  this  race. 

Somehow,  there  is  always  somebody  for  a 
sailor  to  fight  in  every  port  in  the  world,  and  I 
met  my  share  of  them.  Just  as  some  people 
know  a  place  by  its  restaurants  or  theatres  or 
art  galleries,  so  sailors  know  a  port  by  the  fights 
they  have  had  there,  or  perhaps  some  particular 
kind  of  food.  There  was  a  big  porter  in  Con- 
stantinople that  I  always  battled  with,  and  a 
lighterman  in  Archangel.  Genoa  we  liked  be- 
cause of  the  macaroni;  we  used  to  eat  yards 
of  it. 

We  got  to  be  fond  of  goats'  milk,  too.  In 
Italy,  when  you  want  any  milk,  they  drill  up  a 
herd  of  goats,  and  work  out  a  quart  or  what- 
ever quantity  you  want.  So,  while  one  of  us  bar- 
gained with  the  milkman  and  had  him  draw  off 
a  quart  or  so,  the  rest  of  us  would  chase  the 
goats  around  the  corner  and  get  all  the  milk 
we  wanted  for  nothing.  They  got  on  to  this  in 
Spezia,  and  our  ship  had  a  bad  name  there.  So, 
one  time  when  we  were  in  this  port,  we  were 
refused  shore  leave,  and  they  put  a  gendarme 
at  the  gangplank.  I  tried  to  get  past  him,  but 
he  drove  me  back  with  his  rifle.  This  made 
me  pretty  sore,  so  when  we  were  leaving,  I 
shoved  him  in  the  neck  with  a  long  board  from 
off  the  after  deck.  They  tried  to  arrest  me 
then,  but  the  skipper  told  me  to  lay  forward 
and  get  my  gear  going  and  they  wouldn't  know 
who  had  done  it  I  hid  in  this  way  until  we 
were  clear  of  the  port,  but  they  cabled  ahead  of 


20  Gunner  Depew 

us  and  the  authorities  tried  to  take  me  off  at 
Gibraltar.  Our  skipper  saved  me  somehow, 
though  I  do  not  know  exactly  how.  This  is  just 
a  sample  of  the  scrapes  sailors  get  into. 

The  various  navies  differ  in  many  ways,  but 
most  of  the  differences  would  not  be  noticed  by 
anyone  \nt  a  sailor.  Every  sailor  has  a  great 
deal  of  respect  for  the  Swedes  and  Norwegians 
and  Danes;  they  are  born  sailors  and  are  very 
daring,  but,  of  course,  their  navies  are  small. 
The  Germans  were  always  known  as  clean 
sailors;  that  is,  as  in  our  navy  and  the  British, 
their  vessels  were  ship-shape  all  the  time,  and 
were  run  as  sweet  as  a  clock.  Some  of  the  navies 
of  Southern  Europe  are  not  so  notable  in  this 
respect.  The  British  and  German  sailors  are 
strong  on  tradition,  and  are  considered  super- 
stitious. A  man  gets  his  ratings  with  them  more 
for  age  and  experience,  while  in  our  navy  and 
in  that  of  France,  skill  counts  for  more  than 
time  in  service. 

There  is  no  use  comparing  the  various  navies 
as  to  which  is  best ;  some  are  better  at  one  thing 
and  some  at  another.  The  British  navy,  of 
course,  is  the  largest,  and  nobody  will  deny  that 
at  most  things  they  are  topnotch  —  least  of  all 
themselves;  they  admit  it.  But  there  is  one 
place  where  the  navy  of  the  United  States  has 
it  all  over  every  other  navy  on  the  seven  seas, 
and  that  is  gunnery.  The  American  navy  has 
the  best  gunners  in  the  world.  And  do  not  let 
anybody  tell  you  different. 


CHAPTER  H 
THE  WAR  BREAKS 

After  serving  four  years  and  three  months  in 
the  U.  S.  Navy,  I  received  an  honorable  dis- 
charge on  April  14,  1914.  I  held  the  rank  of 
chief  petty  officer,  first-class  gunner.  It  is  not 
uncommon  for  garbies  to  lie  around  a  while 
between  enlistments  —  they  like  a  vacation  as 
much  as  any  one  —  and  it  was  my  intention  to 
loaf  for  a  few  months  before  joining  the  navy 
again. 

After  the  war  started,  of  course,  I  had  heard 
more  or  less  about  the  German  atrocities  in 
Belgium,  and  while  I  was  greatly  interested,  I 
was  doubtful  at  first  as  to  the  truth  of  the 
reports,  for  I  knew  how  news  gets  changed  in 
passing  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  I  never  was 
much  of  a  hand  to  believe  things  until  I  saw 
them,  anyway.  Aoiother  thing  that  caused  me 
to  be  interested  in  the  war  was  the  fact  that 
my  mother  was  born  in  Alsace.  Her  maiden 
name,  Diervieux,  is  well  known  in  Alsace.  I 
had  often  visited  my  grandmother  in  St.  Nazaire, 
France,  and  knew  the  country.  So  with  France 
at  war,  it  was  not  strange  that  I  should  be  even 
more  interested  than  many  other  garbies. 

As  I  have  said,  I  did  not  take  much  stock  in 

21 


22  Gunner  Depew 

the  first  reports  of  the  Hun's  exhibition  of 
kultur,  because  Fritz  is  known  as  a  clean  sailor, 
and  I  figured  that  no  real  sailor  would  ever  get 
mixed  up  in  such  dirty  work  as  they  said  there 
was  in  Belgium.  I  figured  the  soldiers  were 
like  the  sailors.  But  I  found  out  I  was  wrong 
about  both. 

One  thing  that  opened  my  eyes  a  bit  was  the 
trouble  my  mother  had  in  getting  out  of  Han- 
over, where  she  was  when  the  war  started,  and 
back  to  France.  She  always  wore  a  little  Amer- 
ican flag,  and  this  both  saved  and  endangered 
her.  Without  it,  the  Germans  would  have 
interned  her  as  a  Frenchwoman,  and  with  it, 
she  was  sneered  at  and  insulted  time  and  again 
before  she  finally  managed  to  get  over  the  bor- 
der. She  died  about  two  months  after  she 
reached  St.  Nazaire. 

Moreover,  I  heard  the  fate  of  my  older  brother, 
who  had  made  his  home  in  France  with  my  grand- 
mother. He  had  gone  to  the  front  at  the  out- 
break of  the  war  with  the  infantry  from  St. 
Nazaire  and  had  been  killed  two  or  three  weeks 
afterwards.  This  made  it  a  sort  of  personal 
matter. 

But  what  put  the  finishing  touches  to  me  were 
the  stories  a  wounded  Canadian  lieutenant  told 
me  some  months  later  in  New  York.  He  had 
been  there  and  he  knew.  You  could  not  help 
believing  him;  you  can  always  tell  it  when  a 
man  has  been  there  and  knows. 

There  was  not  much  racket  around  New  York, 
so  I  made  up  my  mind  all  of  a  sudden  to  go 


The  War  Breaks  23 

over  and  get  some  for  myself.  Believe  me,  I 
got  enough  racket  before  I  was  through.  Most 
of  the  really  important  things  I  have  done  have 
happened  like  that:  I  did  them  on  the  jump, 
you  might  say.  Many  other  Americans  wanted 
a  look,  too;  there  were  five  thousand  Amer- 
icans in  the  Canadian  Army  at  one  time  they 
say. 

I  would  not  claim  that  I  went  over  there  to 
save  democracy,  or  anything  like  that.  I  never 
did  like  Germans,  and  I  never  met  a  French- 
man who  was  not  kind  to  me,  and  what  I  heard 
about  the  way  the  Huns  treated  the  Belgians 
made  me  sick.  I  used  to  get  out  of  bed  to  go 
to  an  all-night  picture  show,  I  thought  about 
it  so  much.  But  there  was  not  much  excite- 
ment around  New  York,  and  I  figured  the  U.  S. 
would  not  get  into  it  for  a  while,  anyway,  so 
I  just  wanted  to  go  over  and  see  what  it  was 
like.  That  is  why  lots  of  us  went,  I  think. 

There  were  five  of  us  who  went  to  Boston  to 
ship  for  the  other  side :  Sam  Murray,  Ed  Brown, 
Tim  Flynn,  Mitchell  and  myself.  Murray  was 
an  ex-garby  —  two  hitches  (enlistments),  gun 
pointer  rating,  about  thirty-five  years  old.  Brown 
was  a  Pennsylvania  man  about  twenty-six  years 
old,  who  had  served  two  enlistments  in  the 
U.  S.  Army  and  had  quit  with  the  rank  of 
sergeant.  Flynn  and  Mitchell  were  both  ex-navy 
men.  Mitchell  was  a  noted  boxer.  Of  the  five 
of  us,  I  am  the  only  one  who  went  in,  got 
through  and  came  out.  Flynn  and  Mitchell  did 
not  go  in;  Murray  and  Brown  never  came  back. 


24  Gunner  Depew 

The  five  of  us  shipped  on  the  steamship  Vir- 
ginian of  the  American-Hawaiian  Line,  under 
American  flag  and  registry,  but  chartered  by  the 
French  government.  I  signed  on  as  water  tender 
—  an  engine  room  job  —  but  the  others  were  on 
deck  —  that  is,  seamen. 

We  left  Boston  for  St.  Nazaire  with  a  cargo 
of  ammunition,  bully  beef,  etc.,  and  made  the 
first  trip  without  anything  of  interest  happening, 
except  that  while  we  were  in  the  war  zone,  our 
boatswain  was  rigging  the  life  boats  and  a  line 
running  between  the  davits  parted  and  let  him 
through  into  the  sea.  We  were  making  about 
twelve  knots  then,  but  there  was  a  strong  cur- 
rent against  us  and  a  good  sea  running,  and  the 
boatswain  shot  past  us  like  an  arrow.  We  put 
about  at  once,  but  it  took  us  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  to  get  back  to  him,  and  more  than  that 
before  we  had  a  boat  over  the  side  and  him 
into  it.  When  we  dragged  him  in,  he  did  not 
have  a  stitch  of  clothing  on  him.  He  had  un- 
dressed himself  completely  while  he  was  in  the 
water  and  kept  himself  up  at  the  same  time. 
Which  I  thought  was  doing  pretty  well,  as  there 
was  a  fairly  high  sea  running. 

Then,  too,  in  my  mess  —  the  oilers'  and  water- 
tenders' —  the  grub  got  pretty  bad.  One  day 
they  brought  us  a  big  mess-kid  full  of  what  was 
supposed  to  be  stew.  It  was  the  rottenest  kind 
of  garbage,  really,  and  we  made  up  our  minds 
not  to  put  up  with  it.  In  the  navy  we  always 
complain  if  we  have  any  real  reason  for  a  kick, 
and  so,  when  the  other  members  of  the  mess 


The  War  Breaks  25 

showed  they  were  not  anxious  to  go  to  the 
front,  it  was  up  to  me  to  make  a  beef  about  it 
and  see  if  we  could  not  get  better  chow.  So  I 
took  the  kid  and  went  up  to  the  chart  house  to 
show  it  to  the  Old  Man.  I  knocked  on  the  door 
several  times,  but  he  did  not  answer,  so  I  put 
the  kid  down  on  the  deck  right  in  front  of  the 
door  and  went  away.  A  few  minutes  later  he 
came  out  —  right  into  the  stew.  His  foot  slipped 
and  he  laid  down  in  the  middle  of  it.  His  uni- 
form and  his  dignity  sustained  severe  injuries, 
as  they  say.  Also,  some  more  of  him!  Did  he 
find  out  who  did  it?  Well,  I  am  here  today. 
That's  your  answer. 

As  we  were  tying  to  the  dock  at  St.  Nazaire, 
I  saw  a  German  prisoner  sitting  on  a  pile  of  lum- 
ber. I  thought  probably  he  would  be  hungry, 
so  I  went  down  into  the  oilers'  mess  and  got 
two  slices  of  bread  with  a  thick  piece  of  beef- 
steak between  them  and  handed  it  to  Fritz.  He 
would  not  take  it.  At  first  I  thought  he  was 
afraid  to,  but  by  using  several  languages  and 
signs,  he  managed  to  make  me  understand  that 
he  was  not  hungry  —  had  too  much  to  eat,  in 
fact. 

I  used  to  think  of  this  fellow  occasionally 
when  I  was  in  a  German  prison  camp,  and  a 
piece  of  mouldy  bread  the  size  of  a  safety-match 
box  was  the  generous  portion  of  food  they 
forced  on  me,  with  true  German  hospitality, 
once  every  forty-eight  hours.  I  would  not  exactly 
have  refused  a  beefsteak  sandwich,  I  am  afraid. 
But  then  I  was  not  a  heaven-born  German.  I 


26  Grunner  Depew 

was  only  a  common  American  garby.  He  was 
full  of  kidtur  and  grub.  I  was  not  full  of 
anything. 

There  was  a  large  prison  camp  at  St.  Nazaire, 
and  at  one  time  or  another  I  saw  all  of  it. 
Before  the  war  it  had  been  used  as  a  barracks 
by  the  French  army  and  consisted  of  well-made, 
comfortable  two-story  stone  buildings,  floored 
with  concrete,  with  auxiliary  barracks  of  logs. 
The  German  prisoners  occupied  the  stone  build- 
ings, while  the  French  guards  were  quartered  in 
the  log  houses.  Inside,  the  houses  were  divided 
into  long  rooms  with  whitewashed  walls.  There 
were  two-decked  wooden  platforms  in  the  rooms 
and  iron  cots,  exactly  the  same  as  the  French 
soldiers  used.  There  was  a  gymnasium  for  the 
prisoners,  a  canteen  where  they  might  buy  most 
of  the  things  you  could  buy  anywhere  else  in 
the  country,  and  a  studio  for  the  painters  among 
the  prisoners.  Officers  were  separated  from  pri- 
vates —  which  was  a  good  thing  for  the  privates 
—  and  were  kept  in  houses  surrounded  by  stock- 
ades. Officers  and  privates  received  the  same 
treatment,  however,  and  all  were  given  exactly 
the  same  rations  and  equipment  as  the  regular 
French  army  before  it  went  to  the  front.  Their 
food  consisted  of  bread,  soup,  and  vino,  as  wine 
is  called  almost  everywhere  in  the  world.  In 
the  morning  they  received  half  a  loaf  of  Vienna 
bread  and  coffee.  At  noon  they  each  had  a  large 
dixie  of  thick  soup,  and  at  three  in  the  after- 
noon more  bread  and  a  bottle  of  vino.  The 
soup  was  more  like  a  stew  —  very  thick  with 


The  War  Breaks  27 

meat  and  vegetables.  At  one  of  the  officers' 
barracks  there  was  a  cook  who  had  been  chef 
in  the  largest  hotel  in  Paris  before  the  war. 

All  the  prisoners  were  well  clothed.  Once  a 
week,  socks,  underwear,  soap,  towels  and  blan- 
kets were  issued  to  them,  and  every  week  the 
barracks  and  equipment  were  fumigated.  They 
were  given  the  best  of  medical  attention. 

Besides  all  this,  they  were  allowed  to  work  at 
their  trades,  if  they  had  any.  All  the  carpenters, 
cobblers,  tailors  and  painters  were  kept  busy, 
and  some  of  them  picked  up  more  change  there 
than  they  ever  did  in  Germany,  they  told  me. 
The  musicians  formed  bands,  and  played  almost 
every  night  at  restaurants  and  theatres  in  the 
town.  Those  who  had  no  trade  were  allowed  to 
work  on  the  roads,  parks,  docks,  and  at  res- 
idences about  the  town. 

Talk  about  Dear  Old  Jail!  You  could  not 
have  driven  the  average  prisoner  away  from  there 
with  a  14-inch  gun.  I  used  to  think  about  them 
in  Brandenburg,  when  our  boys  were  rushing 
the  sentries  in  the  hope  of  being  bayonetted  out 
of  their  misery. 

One  day  I  met  an  officer  prisoner,  who,  like 
many  of  his  kind,  had  not  been  grateful  for  the 
kindly  treatment  the  French  gave  him,  and  had 
therefore  been  confined  in  a  stockade.  The  cure 
for  his  stubbornness  had  evidently  worked,  for 
he  pointed  over  to  a  hill,  where  there  was  the 
biggest  pile  of  logs  I  ever  saw,  and  said:  "  I 
would  saw  up  all  those  logs  if  I  could  go  over 
to  that  hill;  it  must  be  great  to  look  down  from 


28  Gunner  Depew 

the  top  of  it.     I've  been  staring  at  a  fence  for 
what  seems  years.'' 

While  our  cargo  was  being  unloaded  I  spent 
most  of  my  time  with  my  grandmother.  I  had 
heard  still  more  about  the  cruelty  of  the  Huns, 
and  made  up  my  mind  to  get  into  the  service. 
Murray  and  Brown  had  already  enlisted  in  the 
Foreign  Legion,  Brown  being  assigned  to  the 
infantry  and  Murray  to  the  French  man-of-war 
Cassard.  But  when  I  spoke  of  my  intention, 
my  grandmother  cried  so  much  that  I  promised 
her  I  would  not  enlist  —  that  time,  anyway  — 
and  made  the  return  voyage  on  the  Virginian. 
We  were  no  sooner  loaded  in  Boston  than  back 
to  St.  Nazaire  we  went. 


CHAPTER  III 
IN  THE  FOEEIGN  LEGION 

This  time  I  was  determined  to  enlist.  So, 
when  we  landed  at  St.  Nazaire,  I  drew  my  pay 
from  the  Virginian,  and  after  spending  a  week 
with  my  grandmother,  I  went  out  and  asked  the 
first  gendarme  I  met  where  the  enlistment  station 
was.  I  had  to  argue  with  him  some  time  before 
he  would  even  direct  me  to  it.  Of  course,  I 
had  no  passport,  and  this  made  him  suspicious 
of  me,  but  it  did  not  seem  at  all  like  the  wel- 
come the  Canadian  lieutenant  had  assured  me 
I  would  receive.  However,  I  finally  got  the 
gendarme  to  take  me  to  the  enlistment  station 
by  showing  him  that  if  there  was  any  kick  com- 
ing, the  recruiting  officers  were  the  ones  to  make 
it.  I  could  have  found  the  way  by  myself,  I 
suppose,  but  once  I  had  started  arguing  with  the 
gendarme  I  hated  to  give  in. 

The  officer  in  charge  of  the  station  was  no 
warmer  in  his  welcome  than  the  gendarme,  and 
this  surprised  me,  because  Murray  and  Brown 
had  no  trouble  at  all  in  joining.  The  French,  of 
course,  often  speak  of  the  Foreign  Legion  as 
"  the  convicts,"  because  so  many  of  the  legion- 
aries are  wanted  by  the  police  of  their  respective 
countries,  but  a  criminal  record  never  had  been 

29 


30  Gunner  Depew 

a  bar  to  service  with  the  Legion,  and  I  did  not 
see  why  it  should  be  now  —  if  they  suspected  me 
of  having  one.  I  had  heard  there  were  not  a 
few  Germans  in  the  Legion  —  later  on  I  became 
acquainted  with  some  —  and  believe  me,  no 
Alsatian  ever  fought  harder  against  the  Huns 
than  these  former  Deutschlanders  did.  It 
occurred  to  me  then  that  if  they  thought  I  was 
a  German,  because  I  had  no  passport,  I  might 
have  to  prove  I  had  been  in  trouble  with  the 
Kaiser's  crew  before  they  would  accept  me.  I 
do  not  know  what  the  real  trouble  was,  but  I 
solved  the  problem  by  showing  them  my  dis- 
charge papers  from  the  American  Navy.  Even 
then,  they  were  suspicious  because  they  thought 
I  was  too  young  to  have  been  a  C.  P.  0.  When 
they  challenged  me  on  this  point,  I  said  I  would 
prove  it  to  them  by  taking  an  examination. 

They  examined  me  very  carefully,  in  English, 
although  I  know  enough  French  to  get  by  on  a 
subject  like  gunnery.  But  foreign  officers  are 
very  proud  of  their  knowledge  of  English  —  and 
most  of  them  can  speak  it  —  and  I  think  this 
one  wanted  to  show  off,  as  you  might  say.  Any- 
way, I  passed  my  examination  without  any 
trouble,  was  accepted  for  service  in  the  Foreign 
Legion,  and  received  my  commission  as  gunner, 
dated  F"riday,  January  1,  1915. 

There  is  no  use  in  my  describing  the  Foreign 
Legion.  It  is  one  of  the  most  famous  fighting 
organizations  in  the  world,  and  has  made  a  won- 
derful record  during  the  war.  When  I  joined 
La  Legion,  it  numbered  about  60,000  men.  Today 


In  the  Foreign  Legion  31 

it  has  less  than  8,000.  They  say  that  since 
August,  1914,  the  Legion  has  been  wiped  out 
three  times,  and  that  there  are  only  a  few  men 
still  in  service  who  belonged  to  the  original 
Legion.  I  believe  it  to  be  true.  In  January  of 
this  year  the  French  government  decided  to  let 
the  Legion  die.  I  was  sorry  to  hear  it.  The 
legionnaires  were  a  fine  body  of  men,  and  won- 
derful fighters.  But  the  whole  civilized  world 
is  now  fighting  the  Huns,  and  Americans  do  not 
have  to  enlist  with  the  French  or  the  Limeys 
any  longer. 

While  I  was  in  the  Legion  I  heard  of  one 
chap  who  wrote  long  and  exciting  yarns  of  his 
life  in  the  trenches  —  raids,  bombardments,  etc. 
—  and  all  the  while  he  was  in  a  training  camp 
far  back  from  the  lines  out  of  sound  of  the 
guns.  Some  of  his  letters  got  past  the  censor 
somehow,  but  others  were  held  up,  and  believe 
me,  this  lad  had  it  laid  on  to  him  thick  and  fast. 
He  is  dead  now,  or  missing,  I  never  heard  exactly 
which,  and  anyway,  he  was  just  a  kid,  so  nobody 
holds  it  against  him. 

But  one  thing  about  the  Legion,  that  I  find 
many  people  do  not  know,  is  that  the  legionaries 
are  'used  for  either  land  or  sea  service.  They 
are  sent  wherever  they  can  be  used.  I  do  not 
know  whether  this  was  the  case  before  the  pres- 
ent war  —  I  think  not  —  but  in  my  time,  many 
of  the  men  were  put  on  ships.  Most  people, 
however,  have  the  idea  that  they  are  only  used 
in  the  infantry. 

With  my  commission  as  gunner,  I  received 


32  Gunner  Depew 

orders  to  go  to  Brest  and  join  the  dread- 
naught  Cassard.  This  assignment  tickled  me, 
for  my  pal  Murray  was  aboard,  and  I  had 
expected  trouble  in  transferring  to  his  ship  in 
case  I  was  assigned  elsewhere.  We  had  framed 
it  up  to  stick  together  as  long  as  we  could.  We 
did,  too. 

Murray  was  as  glad  as  I  was  when  I  came 
aboard,  and  he  told  me  he  had  heard  Brown, 
our  other  pal,  had  been  made  a  sergeant  in  an- 
other regiment  of  the  Legion. 

We  were  both  surprised  at  some  of  the  dif- 
ferences between  the  French  navy  and  ours,  but 
after  we  got  used  to  it,  we  thought  many  of 
their  customs  improvements  over  ours.  But  we 
could  not  get  used  to  it,  at  first.  For  instance, 
on  an  American  ship,  when  you  are  pounding 
your  ear  in  a  nice  warm  hammock  and  it  is 
time  to  relieve  the  watch  on  deck,  like  as  not 
you  will  be  awakened  gently  by  a  burly  garby 
armed  with  a  fairy  wand  about  the  size  of  a 
bed  slat,  whereas  in  French  ships,  when  they 
call  the  watch,  you  would  think  you  were  in  a 
swell  hotel  and  had  left  word  at  the  desk.  It 
was  hard  to  turn  out  at  first,  without  the  aid 
of  a  club,  and  harder  still  to  break  ourselves 
of  the  habit  of  calling  our  relief  in  the  gay  and 
festive  American  manner,  but  as  I  say,  we  got 
to  like  it  after  a  while. 

Then,  too,  they  do  not  do  any  hazing  in  the 
French  navy,  and  this  surprised  us.  We  had 
expected  to  go  through  the  mill  just  as  we  did 
•when  we  joined  the  American  service,  but  nobody 


In  the  Foreign  Legion  33 

slung  a  hand  at  us.  On  the  contrary,  every 
garby  aboard  was  kind  and  decent  and  extremely 
curious,  and  the  fact  that  we  were  from  the 
States  counted  a  lot  with  them.  They  used  to 
brag  about  it  to  the  crews  of  other  ships  that 
were  not  so  honored. 

But  this  kindness  we  might  have  expected. 
It  is  just  like  Frenchmen  in  any  walk  of  life. 
With  hardly  an  exception,  I  have  never  met  one 
of  this  nationality  who  was  not  anxious  to  help 
you  in  every  way  he  could;  extremely  generous, 
though  not  reckless  with  small  change,  and  almost 
always  cheery  and  there  with  a  smile  in  any 
weather.  A  fellow  asked  me  once  why  it  was 
that  almost  the  whole  world  loves  the  French, 
and  I  told  him  it  was  because  the  French  love 
almost  the  whole  world,  and  show  it.  And  I 
think  that  is  the  reason,  too. 

About  the  only  way  you  can  describe  the  poibus, 
on  land  or  sea,  is  that  they  are  gentle.  That  is, 
you  always  think  that  word  when  you  see  one 
and  talk  to  him  —  unless  you  happen  to  see  him 
within  bayonet  distance  of  Fritz. 

The  French  sailors  sleep  between  decks  in 
bunks,  instead  of  hammocks,  and  as  I  had  not 
slept  in  a  bunk  since  my  Southerndown  days, 
it  was  pretty  hard  on  me.  So  I  got  hold  of 
some  heaving  line,  which  is  one-quarter  inch 
rope,  and  rigged  up  a  hammock.  In  my  spare 
time  I  taught  the  others  how  to  make  them,  and 
pretty  soon  everybody  was  doing  it.  By  the 
way,  the  American  rag- time  about  "  Everybody's 
Doing  It  "  had  just  reached  the  French  navy, 


34  Gunner  Depew 

and  everybody  was  overdoing  it,  each  with  a 
different  version. 

When  I  taught  the  sailors  to  make  hammocks, 
I  figured,  of  course,  that  they  would  use  them 
as  we  did  —  that  is,  sleep  in  them.  They  were 
greatly  pleased  at  first,  but  after  they  had  tried 
the  stunt  of  getting  in  and  staying  in,  it  was 
another  story.  A  hammock  is  like  some  other 
things  —  it  works  while  you  sleep  —  and  if  you 
are  not  on  to  it,  you  spend  most  of  your  sleep- 
ing time  hitting  the  floor.  Our  gun  captain 
thought  I  had  put  over  a  trick  hammock  on  him, 
but  I  did  not  need  to;  every  hammock  is  a  trick 
hammock. 

They  would  not  believe  me,  however,  and  they 
couldn't  say  enough  things  about  me,  and  called 
me  all  the  names  in  the  French  language,  even 
"  camel/'  which  is  supposed  to  be  a  very  rough 
word  and  a  terrible  insult.  I  passed  them  a 
little  language,  too,  in  American,  only  I  did  not 
call  them  camels.  No  American  garby  would 
call  a  mate  that! 

Also,  I  taught  them  the  way  we  make  mats 
out  of  rope,  to  use  while  sleeping  on  the  steel 
gratings  near  the  entrance  to  stoke  holes.  In 
cold  weather  this  park  of  the  ship  is  more  com- 
fortable than  the  ordinary  sleeping  quarters, 
but  without  a  mat  it  gets  too  hot. 

American  soldiers  and  sailors  get  the  best  food 
in  the  world,  but  while  the  French  navy  chow 
was  not  fancy,  it  was  clean  and  hearty,  as  they 
say  down  East.  For  breakfast  we  had  bread 
and  coffee  and  sardines ;  at  noon  a  boiled  dinner, 


In  the  Foreign  Legion  35 

mostly  beans,  which  were  old  friends  of  mine, 
and  of  the  well-named  navy  variety;  at  four  in 
the  afternoon,  a  pint  of  vino,  and  at  six,  a  sup- 
per of  soup,  coffee,  bread  and  beans. 

Although  the  French  "  Seventy-five  "  is  the 
best  gun  in  the  world,  their  naval  guns  are  not 
as  good  as  ours,  and  their  gunners  are  mostly 
older  men.  But  they  will  give  a  youngster  a 
gun  rating  if  he  shows  the  stuff. 

Shortly  after  I  went  aboard  the  Cassard,  we 
received  instructions  to  proceed  to  Spezia,  Italy, 
the  large  Italian  naval  base.  The  voyage  was 
without  incident,  but  when  we  dropped  anchor 
in  Spezia,  the  Italian  port  officials  quarantined 
us  for  fourteen  days  on  account  of  smallpox. 
During  this  period  our  food  was  pretty  bad; 
in  fact,  the  meat  became  rotten.  This  oould 
hardly  have  happened  on  an  American  ship, 
because  they  are  provisioned  with  canned  stuff 
and  preserved  meats,  but  the  French  ships,  like 
the  Italian,  depend  on  live  stock,  fresh  vege- 
tables, etc.,  which  they  carry  on  board,  and  we 
had  expected  to  get  a  large  supply  of  sueh  stuff 
at  Spezia.  Long  before  the  fourteen  days  were 
up  we  were  out  of  these  things,  and  had  to  live 
on  anything  we  could  get  hold  of  —  mostly  hard- 
tack, coffee  and  cocoa. 

I  knew  Spezia  well,  but  I  did  not  go  about 
the  town  after  the  quarantine  was  lifted,  .because 
of  the  adventure  I  had  had  with  the  gendarme 
on  another  voyage.  I  saw  a  gendarme,  that  I 
took  to  be  my  friend,  at  a  distance,  but  I  did 
not  haul  any  closer  to  make  sure.  I  was  glad 


36  Gunner  Depew 

if  he  was  still  living,  but  I  figured  he  would  not 
want  to  get  chummy  with  me,  so  I  thought  I 
would  not  bother  him. 

We  loaded  a  cargo  of  aeroplanes  for  the 
Italian  aviators  at  the  French  flying  schools, 
and  started  back  to  Brest.  On  the  way  back 
we  had  target  practice.  In  fact,  at  most  times 
on  the  open  sea,  it  was  a  regular  part  of  the 
routine. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  practices  that  the 
French  officers  wanted  to  find  out  what  the 
Yankee  gunner  knew  about  gunnery.  At  a  range 
of  eight  miles,  while  the  ship  was  making  eight 
knots  an  hour,  with  a  fourteen-inch  gun  I  scored 
three  d's  —  that  is,  three  direct  hits  out  of  five 
trials.  After  that  there  was  no  question  about 
it.  As  a  result,  I  was  awarded  three  bars.  These 
bars,  which  are  strips  of  red  braid,  are  worn  on 
the  left  sleeve,  and  signify  extra  marksmanship. 
I  also  received  two  hundred  and  fifty  francs,  or 
about  fifty  dollars  in  American  money,  and  four- 
teen days  shore  leave. 

All  this  made  me  very  angry,  oh,  very  much 
wrought  up  indeed  —  not!  I  saw  a  merry  life 
for  myself  on  the  French  rolling  wave  if  they 
felt  that  way  about  gunnery. 

I  spent  most  of  my  leave  with  my  grand- 
mother in  St.  Nazaire,  except  for  a  short  trip 
I  made  to  a  star-shell  factory.  This  faetory 
was  just  about  like  one  I  saw  later  somewhere 
in  America,  only  in  the  French  works,  all  the 
hands  were  women.  Only  the  guards  were  men, 
and  they  were  blesses  (wounded). 


In  the  Foreign  Legion  37 

When  my  leave  was  up  and  I  said  good-bye 
to  my  grandmother,  she  managed  a  smile  for 
me,  though  I  could  see  that  it  was  pretty  stiff 
work.  And  without  getting  soft,  or  anything  like 
that,  I  can  tell  you  that  smile  stayed  with  me 
and  it  did  me  more  good  than  you  would  believe, 
because  it  gave  me  something  good  to  think  about 
when  I  was  up  against  the  real  thing. 

I  hope  a  lot  of  you  people  who  read  this 
book  are  women,  because  I  have  had  it  in  mind 
for  some  time  to  tell  all  the  women  I  could  a 
little  thing  they  can  do  that  will  help  a  lot. 
I  am  not  trying  to  be  fancy  about  it,  and  I 
hope  you  will  take  it  from  me  the  way  I  mean  it. 

When  you  say  good-bye  to  your  son  or  your 
husband  or  your  sweetheart,  work  up  a  smile 
for  him.  What  you  want  to  do  is  to  give  him 
something  he  can  think  about  over  there,  and 
something  he  will  like  to  think  about.  There 
is  so  much  dirt,  and  blood,  and  hunger,  and  cold, 
and  all  that  around  you,  that  you  have  just  got 
to  quit  thinking  about  it,  or  you  will  go  crazy. 
And  so,  when  you  can  think  about  something 
nice,  you  can  pretty  nearly  forget  all  the  rest 
for  a  while.  The  nicest  things  you  can  think 
about  are  the  things  you  liked  back  home. 

Now,  you  can  take  it  from  me  that  what  your 
boy  will  like  to  remember  the  best  of  all  is  your 
face  with  a  smile  on  it.  He  has  got  enough  hell 
on  his  hands  without  a  lot  of  weeps  to  remember, 
if  you  will  excuse  the  word.  But  don't  forget 
that  the  chances  are  on  his  side  that  he  gets  back 


38  Gunner  Depew 

to  you;  the  figures  prove  it.  That  will  help  you 
some.  At  that,  it  will  be  hard  work;  you  will 
feel  more  like  crying,  and  so  will  he,  maybe. 
But  smile  for  him.  That  smile  is  your  bit. 

I  will  back  a  smile  against  the  weeps  in  a 
race  to  Berlin  any  time.  So  I  am  telling  you, 
and  I  can  not  make  it  strong  enough  —  send  him 
away  with  a  smile. 


CHAPTER  IV 
ON  THE  FIEING  LINE 

Whem  I  reported  on  the  Cassard  after  my 
fourteen  days'  leave,  I  was  detailed  with  a 
detachment  of  the  Legion  to  go  to  the  Flanders 
front.  I  changed  into  the  regular  uniform  of 
the  Legion,  which  is  about  like  that  of  the 
infantry,  with  the  regimental  badge  —  a  seven- 
flamed  grenade. 

We  traveled  from  Brest  by  rail,  in  third-class 
cars,  passing  through  La  Havre  and  St.  Pol, 
and  finally  arriving  at  Bergues.  From  Bergues 
we  made  the  trip  to  Dixmude  by  truck  —  a  dis- 
tance of  about  twenty  miles.  We  carried  no 
rations  with  us,  but  at  certain  places  along  the 
line  the  train  stopped,  and  we  got  out  to  eat 
our  meals.  At  every  railroad  station  they  have 
booths  or  counters,  and  French  girls  work  day 
and  night  feeding  the  poilus.  It  was  a  wonderful 
sight  to  see  these  girls,  and  it  made  you  feel 
good  to  think  you  were  going  to  fight  for  them. 

It  was  not  only  what  they  did,  but  the  way 
they  did  it,  and  it  is  at  things  like  this  that  the 
French  beat  the  world.  They  could  tell  just 
what  kind  of  treatment  each  poilu  needed,  and 
they  saw  to  it  that  he  got  it.  They  took  special 
pains  with  the  men  of  the  Legion,  because,  as 

39 


40  Gunner  Depew 

they  say,  we  are  "  strangers,"  and  that  means, 
"  the  best  we  have  is  yours  "  to  the  French. 
These  French  women,  young  and  old,  could  be 
a  mother  and  a  sweetheart  and  a  sister  all  at 
the  same  time  to  any  hairy  old  ex-convict  in  the 
Legion,  and  do  it  in  a  way  that  made  him  feel 
like  a  little  boy  at  the  time  and  a  rich  church 
member  afterwards.  The  only  thing  we  did  not 
like  about  this  trip  was  that  there  were  not 
enough  stations  along  that  line.  There  is  a  tip 
that  the  French  engineers  will  not  take,  I  am 
afraid. 

And  the  legionaries  were  French  enough  in 
their  feelings  so  that  they  took  it  in  the  right 
way,  too.  I  never  saw  one  of  our  men  get  gay 
with  a  French  girl,  and  if  they  did  not,  I  know 
the  regular  French  troops  did  not  either.  As 
soldiers  are  apt  to  be  pretty  raw  sometimes,  that 
is  saying  a  lot  for  the  French  women. 

There  is  another  thing  about  the  French  women 
that  I  have  noticed,  and  that  is  this.  There 
are  pretty  girls  in  every  country  under  the  sun, 
but  the  plain  girls  in  France  are  prettier  than 
the  plain  ones  in  other  countries.  They  might 
not  show  it  in  photographs,  but  in  action  there 
is  something  about  them  that  you  can  not  explain. 
I  have  never  seen  an  ugly  French  girl  who 
was  not  easy  to  look  at. 

Most  of  the  French  people  are  just  a  little  bit 
afraid  of  the  men  of  the  Legion.  They  think 
that  a  man  must  be  a  very  desperate  thug  before 
he  would  be  willing  to  serve  where  the  Legion 
does  in  time  of  peace  and  for  the  small  pay 


On  the  Firing  Line  41 

they  get.  Also,  after  the  Germans  took  Alsace- 
Lorraine  in  1870,  there  were  so  many  Alsatians 
who  joined  the  Legion  —  because  otherwise  they 
would  have  to  serve  with  the  Germans  —  that 
the  French  got*  into  the  habit  of  calling  the 
legionaries  Germans  or  Prussians,  or  something 
like  that,  and  many  of  the  simple-minded  French 
people  got  to  think  they  really  were  all  Germans 
in  the  Legion. 

So,  when  a  section  of  the  Legion  came  through 
a  certain  little  town  a  short  time  before  we  did, 
the  inhabitants  were  much  frightened.  They 
had  never  seen  legionaries  before,  but  they  had 
heard  of  them. 

"  It  is  the  Germans,  the  desperate  men  of  the 
Legion,"  they  said.  "  What  will  become  of  the 
town?  " 

The  men  got  out  of  the  trains  and  wandered 
about  the  little  town,  and  some  of  them  wanted 
to  buy  tobacco  or  vino  or  whatnot.  But  every 
shop  was  closed  and  barricaded.  Every  person 
they  came  to  ran  away  as  fast  as  he  or  she 
could,  and  nobody  would  have  a  thing  to  do  with 
them. 

This  made  the  men  pretty  mad,  naturally.  A 
great  many  soldiers  or  sailors  would  have  broken 
up  the  whole  place,  but  the  men  of  the  Legion 
knew  discipline,  for  they  really  are  proud  of  the 
regiment  and  do  not  want  to  disgrace  it.  So 
while  these  men  were  angry  and  insulted,  they 
behaved  themselves. 

They  really  did  need  tobacco  and  a  few  other 
things,  so  they  took  the  shutters  out  of  a  shop 


42  Gunner  Depew 

window  and  climbed  in  and  helped  themselves. 
But  they  left  the  money  for  it,  and  because 
they  did  not  have  the  exact  change,  they  left 
more  than  the  right  price.  Then  they  got  aboard 
their  train  and  pulled  away. 

But  the  people  of  the  town  kept  talking  about 
the  affair  until,  according  to  them,  the  Legion 
had  sacked  the  town  and  looted  every  house  in 
it.  I  guess  they  got  to  believing  it  themselves, 
because  by  the  time  we  got  there,  to  say  that 
they  were  off  of  us  for  life  was  putting  it  mildly. 

They  did  not  have  the  shops  closed  this  time, 
and  they  were  not  hiding,  but  they  would  not 
have  anything  to  do  with  us.  They  would  sell 
us  what  we  wanted  to  buy,  but  that  was  all,  and 
not  a  single  cheer-oh  when  some  of  us  wanted 
to  buy  vino  for  the  bunch. 

We  were  used  to  this  kind  of  thing  —  at  least 
the  old  legionaries  were  —  because  trippers,  like 
the  boys  of  the  Legion,  never  do  get  very  chummy 
with  the  home  guards.  But  we  wanted  to  get 
the  Legion  in  right  in  this  town,  and  we  were 
disappointed  when  the  merry  villagers  froze  up 
the  way  they  did. 

The  worst  of  it  was  we  had  to  stop  over  in 
this  town  for  three  hours.  We  walked  up  and 
down  the  square  feeling  right  at  home  and  just 
the  correct  thing  —  like  wearing  a  yachting  suit 
in  the  mountains. 

We  finally  got  to  Dixmude,  after  having  spent 
about  eighteen  hours  on  the  way.  On  our  arrival, 
ene  company  was  sent  to  the  reserve  trenches, 
and  my  company  went  to  the  front  line  trench. 


On  the  Firing  Line  43 

We  were  not  placed  in  training  camps,  because 
most  of  us  had  been  under  fire  before.  I  never 
had,  but  that  was  not  supposed  to  make  any 
difference.  They  say  if  you  can  stand  the 
Legion,  you  can  stand  anything.  But  I  have 
seen  worse  than  that. 

Before  we  entered  the  communication  trench, 
we  were  drawn  up  alongside  of  a  crossroad  for 
a  rest,  and  to  receive  certain  accoutrements. 
Pretty  soon  we  saw  a  bunch  of  boches  coming 
along  the  road,  without  their  guns,  a  few  of 
them  being  slightly  wounded.  Some  of  them 
looked  scared  and  others  happy,  but  they  all 
seemed  tired.  Then  we  heard  some  singing, 
and  pretty  soon  we  could  see  an  Irish  corporal 
stepping  along  behind  the  Huns,  with  his  rifle 
slung  over  his  back,  and  every  once  in  a  while 
he  would  shuffle  a  bit  and  then  sing  some  more. 
He  had  a  grin  on  him  that  pushed  his  ears  back. 

The  British  non-com,  who  was  detailed  as  our 
guide,  sang  out :  ' '  What  kind  of  time  are  you 
having,  Pat?  " 

The  Irishman  saluted  with  one  hand,  dug  the 
other  into  his  pocket  and  pulled  out  enough 
watches  to  make  you  think  you  were  in  a  pawn 
shop.  "  Oh,  a  foin  toim  I'm  bavin',"  he  says. 
"  I  got  wan  from  each  of  thim  fellas."  We 
counted  fourteen  prisoners  in  the  bunch.  Pat 
sure  thought  he  was  rolling  in  wealth. 

After  we  were  rested  up,  we  were  issued  rifles, 
shrapnel  helmets  and  belts,  and  then  started 
down  the  communication  trench.  These  trenches 
are  entrances  to  the  fighting  trenches,  and  run 


44  Gunner  Depew 

at  varying  angles  and  varying  distances  apart. 
They  are  seldom  wide  enough  to  hold  more  than 
one  man,  so  you  have  to  march  single  file  in 
them.  They  wind  in  and  out,  according  to  the 
lay  of  the  land,  some  parts  of  them  being  more 
dangerous  than  others.  When  you  come  to  a 
dangerous  spot,  you  have  to  crawl  sometimes. 

There  are  so  many  cross  trenches  and  blind 
alleys  that  you  have  to  have  a  guide  for  a  long 
time,  because  without  one,  you  are  apt  to  walk 
through  an  embrasure  in  a  fire  trench  and  right 
out  into  the  open,  between  the  German  front 
line  and  your  own.  Which  is  hardly  worth 
while! 

If  any  part  of  the  line  is  under  fire,  the  guide 
at  the  head  of  the  line  is  on  the  lookout  for 
shells,  and  when  he  hears  one  coming,  he  gives 
the  signal  and  you  drop  to  the  ground  and  wait 
until  it  bursts.  You  never  get  all  the  time  you 
want,  but  at  that,  you  have  plenty  of  time  to 
think  about  things  while  you  are  lying  there 
with  your  face  m  the  mud,  waiting  to  hear  the 
sound  of  the  explosion.  When  you  hear  it,  you 
know  you  have  got  at  least  one  more  to  dodge. 
If  you  do  not  hear  it  —  well,  most  likely  you  are 
worrying  more  about  tuning  your  thousand  string 
harp  than  anything  else. 

In  the  communication  trench  you  have  to  keep 
your  distance  from  the  man  ahead  of  you.  This 
is  done  so  that  you  will  have  plenty  of  room  to 
fall  down  in,  and  because  if  a  shell  should  find 
the  trench,  there  would  be  fewer  casualties  in 
an  open  formation  than  in  a  closed.  The  Ger- 


On  the  Firing  Line  45 

man  artillery  is  keen  on  communication  trenches, 
and  whenever  they  spot  one,  they  stay  with  it 
a  long  time.  Most  of  them  are  camouflaged 
along  the  top  and  sides,  so  that  enemy  aviators 
can  not  see  anything  but  the  earth  or  bushes, 
when  they  throw  an  eye  down  on  our  lines. 

We  took  over  our  section  of  the  front  line 
trenches  from  a  French  line  regiment  that  had 
been  on  the  job  for  twenty-four  days.  That  was 
the  longest  time  I  have  heard  of  any  troops 
remaining  on  the  firing  line. 

Conditions  at  the  front  and  ways  of  fighting 
are  changing  all  the  time,  as  each  side  invents 
new  methods  of  butchering,  so  when  I  try  to 
describe  the  Dixmude  trenches,  you  must  realize 
that  it  is  probably  just  history  by  now.  If  they 
are  still  using  trenches  there,  they  probably  look 
entirely  different. 

But  when  I  was  at  Dixmude  they  were  some- 
thing like  this: 

Behind  the  series  of  front  line  trenches  are 
the  reserve  trenches;  in  this  case,  five  to  seven 
miles  away,  and  still  farther  back  are  the  billets. 
These  may  be  houses  or  barns  or  ruined  churches 
—  any  place  that  can  possibly  be  used  for  quar- 
tering troops  when  off  duty. 

Troops  were  usually  in  the  front  line  trenches 
six  to  eight  days,  and  fourteen  to  sixteen  days 
in  the  reserve  trenches.  Then,  back  to  the  billets 
for  six  or  eight  days. 

We  were  not  allowed  to  change  our  clothing 
in  the  front  line  trenches  —  not  even  to  remove 
socks,  unless  for  inspection.  Nor  would  they  let 


46  Gunner  Depew 

you  as  much  as  unbutton  your  shirt,  unless  there 
was  an  inspection  of  identification  discs.  We 
wore  a  disc  at  the  wrist  and  another  around  the 
neck.  You  know  the  gag  about  the  discs,  of 
course:  If  your  arm  is  blown  off,  they  can  tell 
who  you  are  by  the  neck  disc;  if  your  head  is 
blown  off,  they  do  not  care  who  you  are. 

In  the  reserve  trenches,  you  can  make  your- 
self more  comfortable,  but  you  can  not  go  to 
such  extreme  lengths  of  luxury  as  changing  your 
clothes  entirely.  That  is  for  billets,  where  you 
spend  most  of  your  time  bathing,  changing 
clothes,  sleeping  and  eating.  Believe  me,  billets 
is  great  stuff:  it  is  like  a  sort  of  temporary 
heaven. 

Of  course  you  know  what  the  word  "  cooties  " 
means.  Let  us  hope  you  will  never  know  what 
the  cooties  themselves  mean.  When  you  get  in 
or  near  the  trenches,  you  take  a  course  in  the 
natural  history  of  bugs,  lice,  rats  and  every  kind 
of  pest  that  has  ever  been  invented. 

It  is  funny  to  see  some  of  the  newcomers  when 
they  first  discover  a  cootie  on  them.  Some  of 
them  cry.  If  they  really  knew  what  it  was 
going  to  be  like,  they  would  do  worse  than  that, 
maybe.  Then  they  start  hunting  all  over  each 
other,  just  like  monkeys.  They  team  up  for  this 
purpose,  and  many  times  it  is  in  this  way  that 
a  couple  of  men  get  to  be  trench  partners,  and 
come  to  be  pals  for  life  —  which  may  mot  be  a 
long  time  at  that. 

In  the  front  line  trenches  it  is  more  com- 
fortable to  fall  asleep  on  the  parapet  ire-step 


On  the  Firing  Line  47 

than  in  the  dugouts,  because  the  cooties  are 
thicker  down  below,  and  they  simply  will  not 
give  you  a  minute's  rest.  They  certainly  are 
active  little  pests.  We  used  to  make  back- 
scratchers out  of  certain  weapons  that  had  flex- 
ible handles,  but  never  had  time  to  use  them 
when  we  needed  them  most. 

We  were  given  bottles  of  strong  liquid  which 
smelled  like  lysol,  and  were  supposed  to  soak  our 
clothes  in  it.  It  was  thought  that  the  cooties 
would  object  to  the  smell  and  quit  work.  Well, 
a  cootie  that  could  stand  our  clothes  without  the 
dope  on  them  would  not  be  bothered  by  a  little 
thing  like  this  stuff.  Also,  our  clothes  got  so 
sour  and  horrible  smelling  that  they  hurt  our 
noses  worse  than  the  cooties.  They  certainly 
were  game  little  devils,  and  came  right  back 
at  us. 

So  most  of  the  poilus  threw  the  dope  at  Fritz, 
and  fought  the  cooties  hand  to  hand. 

There  was  plenty  of  food  in  the  trenches  most 
of  the  time,  though  once  in  a  while,  during  a 
heavy  bombardment,  the  fatigue  —  usually  a  cor- 
poral's  guard  —  would  get  killed  in  the  commu- 
nication trenches,  and  we  would  not  have  time 
to  get  out  to  the  fatigue  and  rescue  the  grub 
they  were  bringing.  Sometimes  you  could  not 
find  either  the  fatigue  or  the  grub  when  you  got 
to  the  point  where  they  had  been  hit. 

But  as  I  say,  we  were  well  fed  most  of  the 
time,  and  got  second  and  third  helpings  until  we 
had  to  open  our  belts.  But  as  the  Limeys  say: 
"  Gaw  blimey,  the  chuck  was  rough. "  They 


4:8  Gunner  Depew 

served  a  thick  soup  of  meat  and  vegetables  in 
bowls  the  size  of  wash  basins,  black  coffee,  with 
or  without  sugar  —  mostly  without !  —  and  plenty 
of  bread. 

Also,  we  had  preserves  in  tins,  just  like  the 
Limeys.  If  you  send  any  parcels  over,  do  not 
put  any  apple  and  plum  jam  in  them,  or  the 
man  who  gets  it  will  let  Fritz  shoot  him.  Ask 
any  Limey  soldier,  and  he  will  tell  you  the  same. 
I  never  thought  there  was  so  much  jam  in  the 
world.  No  Man's  Land  looked  like  a  city  dump. 
Most  of  us  took  it,  after  a  while,  just  to  get  the 
bread.  Early  in  the  war  they  used  the  tins  to 
make  bombs  of,  but  that  was  before  Mills  came 
along  with  his  hand  grenade.  Later  on  they 
flattened  out  the  tins  and  lined  the  dugouts  with 
them. 

Each  man  carried  an  emergency  ration  in  his 
bag.  This  consisted  of  bully  beef,  biscuits,  etc. 
This  ration  was  never  used  except  in  a  real 
emergency,  because  no  one  could  tell  when  it 
might  mean  the  difference  between  life  and  death 
to  him.  When  daylight  catches  a  man  in  a  shell 
hole,  or  at  a  listening  post  out  in  No  Man's 
Land,  he  does  not  dare  to  crawl  back  to  his 
trench  before  nightfall,  and  then  is  the  time  that 
his  emergency  ration  comes  in  handy.  Also,  the 
stores  failed  to  reach  us  sometimes,  as  I  have 
said,  and  we  had  to  use  the  emergency  rations. 

Sometimes  we  received  raw  meat,  and  fried 
it  in  our  dugouts.  We  built  regular  clay  ovens 
in  the  dugouts,  with  iron  tops  for  broiling.  This, 
of  course,  was  in  the  front  line  trenches  only. 


On  the  Firing  Line  49 

We  worked  two  hours  on  the  fire-step  and 
knocked  off  for  four  hours,  in  which  time  we 
cooked  and  ate  and  slept.  This  routine  was 
kept  up  night  and  day,  seven  days  a  week. 
Sometimes  the  program  was  changed;  for 
instance,  when  there  was  to  be  an  attack,  or 
when  Fritz  tried  to  come  over  and  visit,  but 
otherwise  nothing  disturbed  our  routine  unless 
it  was  a  gas  attack. 

The  ambition  of  most  privates  is  to  become  a 
sniper,  as  the  official  sharpshooters  are  called. 
After  a  private  has  been  in  the  trenches  for  six 
months  or  a  year  and  has  shown  his  marksman- 
ship, he  becomes  the  great  man  he  has  dreamed 
about.  We  had  two  snipers  to  each  company, 
and  because  they  took  more  chances  with  their 
lives  than  the  ordinary  privates,  they  were 
allowed  more  privileges.  WTien  it  was  at  all  pos- 
sible, our  snipers  were  allowed  dry  quarters,  the 
best  of  food,  and  they  did  not  have  to  follow 
the  usual  routine,  but  came  and  went  as  they 
pleased. 

Our  snipers,  as  a  rule,  went  over  the  parapet 
about  dusk,  just  before  Fritz  got  his  star  shells 
going.  They  would  crawl  out  to  shell  craters, 
or  tree  stumps,  or  holes  that  they  had  spotted 
during  the  day  —  in  other  words,  places  where 
they  could  see  the  enemy  parapets,  but  could 
not  be  seen  themselves.  Once  in  position,  they 
would  make  themselves  comfortable,  smear  their 
tin  hats  with  dirt,  get  a  good  rest  for  their 
rifles  and  snipe  every  German  they  saw.  They 
wore  extra  bandoleers  of  cartridges,  since  there 


50  Gunner  Depew 

was  no  telling  how  many  rounds  they  might  fire 
during  the  night.  Sometimes  they  had  direct  and 
visible  targets,  and  other  times  they  potted  Huns 
by  guess  work.  Usually  they  crawled  back  just 
before  daylight,  but  sometimes  they  were  out 
twenty-four  hours  at  a  stretch.  They  took  great 
pride  in  the  number  of  Germans  they  knocked 
over,  and  if  our  men  did  not  get  eight  or  ten, 
they  thought  they  had  not  done  a  good  night's 
work.  Of  course,  it  was  not  wholesale  killing, 
like  machine  gunning,  but  it  was  very  useful, 
because  our  snipers  were  always  laying  for  the 
German  snipers,  and  when  they  got  Sniper  Fritz, 
they  saved  just  so  many  of  our  lives. 

The  Limeys  have  a  great  little  expression  that 
means  a  lot:  "  Carry  on."  They  say  it  is  a 
cockney  expression.  When  a  captain  falls  in 
action,  his  words  are  not  a  message  to  the  girl 
he  left  behind  him,  or  any  dope  about  his  gray- 
haired-  mother,  but  "  Carry  on,  Lieutenant 
Whosis."  If  the  lieutenant  gets  his,  it  is  "  Carry 
on,  Sergeant  Jacks,"  and  so  on  as  far  as  it 
goes.  So  the  words  used  to  mean,  "  Take  over 
the  command,  and  do  the  job  right."  But  now 
they  mean  not  only  that,  but  "  Keep  up  your 
courage,  and  go  to  it."  One  man  will  say  it 
to  another,  sometimes,  when  he  thinks  the  first 
man  is  getting  down-hearted,  but  jpore  often,  if 
he  is  a  Limey,  he  will  start  kidding  him. 

Our  men,  of  course,  did  not  say  "  Carry  on," 
and  in  fact,  they  did  not  have  any  expression 
in  French  that  meant  exactly  the  same  thing. 
But  they  used  to  cheer  each  other  along,  all 


On  the  Firing  Line  51 

right,  and  they  passed  along  the  command  when 
it  was  necessary,  too.  I  wonder  what  expression 
the  American  troops  will  use.  (You  notice  I  do 
not  call  them  Sammies!) 

I  took  my  turn  at  listening  post  with  the  rest 
of  them,  of  course.  A  listening  post  is  any  good 
position  out  in  No  Man's  Land,  and  is  always 
held  by  two  men.  Their  job  is  to  keep  a  live 
ear  on  Fritz,  and  in  case  they  hear  anything 
that  sounds  very  much  like  an  attack,  one  man 
runs  back  to  his  lines,  and  the  other  stays  to 
hold  back  the  boches  as  long  as  he  can.  You 
can  figure  for  yourself  which  is  the  most  healthy 
job. 

As  many  times  as  I  went  on  listening  post 
duty,  I  never  did  get  to  feeling  homelike  there, 
exactly.  You  have  to  lie  very  still,  of  course,  as 
Fritz  is  listening,  too,  and  a  move  may  mean  a 
bullet  in  the  ribs.  So,  lying  on  the  ground  with 
hardly  a  change  of  position,  the  whole  lower 
part  of  my  body  would  go  to  sleep  before  I  had 
been  at  the  post  very  long.  I  used  to  brag  a 
lot  about  how  fast  I  could  run,  so  I  had  my  turn 
as  the  runner,  which  suited  me  all  right.  But 
every  time  I  got  to  a  listening  post  and  started 
to  think  about  what  I  would  do  if  Fritz  should 
come  .over,  and  wondered  how  good  a  runner  he 
was,  I  took  a  long  breath  and  saidj  "  Feet,  do 
your  dut/."  And  I  was  strong  on  duty. 

After  I  had  done  my  stunt  in  the  front  line 
and  reserve  trenches  I  went  back  with  my  com- 
pany to  billets,  but  had  only  been  there  for  a 
day  or  two  before  I  was  detached  and  detailed 


52  Gunner  Depew 

to  the  artillery  position  to  the  right  of  us,  where 
both  the  British  and  French  had  mounted  naval 
guns.  There  were  guns  of  all  calibres  there, 
both  naval  and  field  pieces,  and  I  got  a  good 
look  at  the  famous  "  Seventy-fives,"  which  are 
the  best  guns  in  the  world,  in  my  estimation, 
and  the  one  thing  that  saved  Verdun. 

The  ' '  75  's  "  fired  thirty  shots  a  minute,  where 
the  best  the  German  guns  could  do  was  six. 
The  American  3-inch  field  piece  lets  go  six  times 
a  minute,  too.  The  French  government  owns 
the  secret  of  the  mechanism  that  made  this  rapid 
fire  possible.  When  the  first  "  75 's  "  began  to 
roar,  the  Germans  knew  the  French  had  found 
a  new  weapon,  so  they  were  very  anxious  to 
get  one  of  the  guns  and  learn  the  secret. 

Shortly  afterward  they  captured  eight  guns 
by  a  mass  attack  in  which,  the  Allies  claim, 
there  were  4,000  German  troops  killed.  The 
bodies  studied  the  guns,  and  tried  to  turn  out 
pieces  like  them  at  the  Krupp  factory.  But 
somehow  they  could  not  get  it.  Their  imitation 
"  75 's  "  would  only  fire  five  shots  very  rapidly, 
and  then  ' l  cough, ' '  —  puff,  puff,  puff,  with  noth- 
ing coming  out.  The  destructive  power  of  the 
"  75 's  "  is  enormous.  These  guns  have  saved 
the  lives  of  thousands  of  poilus  and  Tommies, 
and  it  is  largely  due  to  them  that  the  French 
are  now  able  to  beat  Fritz  at  his  own  game  and 
give  back  shell  for  shell  —  and  then  some. 


CHAPTER  V 
WITH  THE  "  75 's  " 

My  pal  Brown,  of  whom  I  spoke  before, 
had  been  put  in  the  infantry  when  he  enlisted 
in  the  Legion,  because  he  had  served  in  the 
United  States  infantry.  He  soon  became  a  ser- 
geant, which  had  been  his  rating  in  the  Amer- 
ican service.  I  never  saw  him  in  the  trenches, 
because  our  outfits  were  nowhere  near  each  other, 
but  whenever  we  were  in  billets  at  the  same  time, 
we  were  together  as  much  as  possible. 

Brown  was  a  funny  card,  and  I  never  saw 
anyone  else  much  like  him.  A  big,  tall,  red 
headed,  dopey-looking  fellow,  never  saying  much 
and  slow  in  everything  he  did  or  said  —  you 
would  never  think  he  amounted  to  much  or  was 
worth  his  salt.  The  boys  used  to  call  him 
"  Ginger  "  Brown,  both  on  account  of  his  red 
hair  and  his  slow  movements.  But  he  would 
pull  a  surprise  on  you  every  once  in  a  while, 
like  this  one  that  he  fooled  me  with. 

One  morning  about  dawn  we  started  out  for  a 
walk  through  what  used  to  be  Dixmude  —  piles 
of  stone  and  brick  and  mortar.  There  were  no 
civvies  to  be  seen;  only  mules  and  horses  bring- 
ing up  casks  of  water,  bags  of  beans,  chloride 
of  lime,  barbed  wire,  ammunition,  etc.  It  was 

53 


a  good  thing  we  were  not  superstitious.  At  that, 
the  shadows  along  the  walls  made  me  feel  shaky 
sometimes. 

Finally  Brown  said:  "  Come  on  down;  let's 
see  the  '  75 'a.'  "  At  this  time  I  had  not  seen  a 
"  75,"  except  on  a  train  going  to  the  front,  so 
I  took  him  up  right  away,  but  was  surprised 
that  he  should  know  where  they  were. 

After  going  half  way  around  Dixmude,  Brown 
said,  "  Here  we  are,"  and  started  right  into 
what  was  left  of  a  big  house.  I  kept  wondering 
how  he  would  know  so  much  about  it,  but  fol- 
lowed him.  Inside  the  house  was  a  passageway 
under  the  ruins.  It  was  about  seven  feet  wide 
and  fifty  feet  long,  I  should  judge. 

At  the  other  end  was  the  great  old  "  75," 
poking  its  nose  out  of  a  hole  in  the  wall.  The 
gun  captain  and  the  crew  were  sitting  around 
waiting  the  word  for  action,  and  they  seemed  to 
know  Brown  well.  I  was  surprised  at  that,  but 
still  more  so  when  he  told  me  I  could  examine 
the  gun  if  I  wanted  to,  just  as  if  he  owned  it. 

So  I  sat  in  the  seat  and  trained  the  cross 
wires  on  an  object,  opened  and  closed  the  breech, 
and  examined  the  recoil. 

Then  Brown  said:  "  Well,  Chink,  you  will  see 
some  real  gunnery  now,"  and  they  passed  the 
word  and  took  stations.  My  eyes  bulged  out 
when  I  saw  Brown  take  his  station  with  them! 

"  Silence!  "  is  about  the  first  command  a  gun 
crew  gets  when  it  is  going  into  action,  but  I 
forgot  all  about  it,  and  shouted  out  and  asked 
Brown  how  the  hell  he  got  to  be  a  gunner.  But 


With  the  "  75's  r  55 

he  only  grinned  and  looked  dopey,  as  usual. 
Then  I  came  to,  and  expected  to  get  a  call  down 
from  the  officer,  but  he  only  grinned  and  so 
did  the  crew.  It  seems  they  had  it  all  framed 
to  spring  on  me,  and  they  expected  I  would  be 
surprised. 

So  we  put  cotton  in  our  ears,  and  the  captain 
called  the  observation  tower  a  short  distance 
away,  and  they  gave  him  the  range.  Then  the 
captain  called  "  4128  metres  "  to  Brown.  They 
placed  the  nose  of  a  shell  in  a  fuse  adjuster,  and 
turned  the  handle  until  it  reached  scale  4128. 
This  set  the  fuse  to  explode  at  the  range  given. 
Then  they  slammed  the  shell  into  the  breach, 
locked  it  shut,  and  Brown  sent  his  best  to  Fritz. 

The  barrel  slipped  back,  threw  out  the  shell 
case  at  our  feet,  and  returned  over  a  cushion  of 
grease.  Then  we  received  the  results  by  tel- 
ephone from  the  observation  tower.  After  he 
had  fired  twelve  shots,  the  captain  said  to  Brown : 
"  You  should  never  waste  yourself  in  infantry, 
son."  And  old  dopey  Brown  just  stood  there 
and  grinned. 

That  was  Brown  every  time.  He  knew  about 
more  things  than  you  could  think  of.  He  had 
read  about  gunnery  and  fooled  around  at  Dix- 
mude  until  they  let  him  play  with  the  "  75's," 
and  finally,  here  he  was,  giving  his  kindest  to 
Fritz  with  the  rest  of  them. 

I  never  saw  a  battery  better  concealed  than 
this  one.  Up  on  the  ground,  you  couldn't  see 
the  muzzle  twenty  yards  away  —  and  that  was 
all  there  was  to  see  at  any  distance.  There 


56  Gunner  Depew 

was  a  ruined  garden  just  outside  the  gun  quar- 
ters, and  while  the  gunners  were  there  picking 
apples,  there  would  be  a  hiss  and  an  explosion, 
and  over  would  go  some  of  the  trees  or  maybe 
a  man  or  two,  but  never  a  shell  struck  nearer 
the  guns  than  that.  The  poilus  used  to  thank 
Fritz  for  helping  them  pick  the  apples,  because 
the  explosions  would  bring  them  down  in  great 
style.  Shells  from  our  heavy  artillery  passed 
just  over  the  garden,  too,  making  an  awful 
racket.  But  they  were  not  in  it  with  the  "  75  's. '  * 

They  gave  me  a  little  practice  with  a  "  75  " 
under  the  direction  of  expert  French  gunners 
before  I  went  to  my  14-inch  naval  gun,  and 
believe  me,  it  was  a  fine  little  piece.  Just  pic- 
ture to  yourself  a  little  beauty  that  can  send  a 
38-pound  shell  every  two  seconds  for  five  miles 
and  more,  if  you  want  it  to,  and  land  on  Fritz's 
vest  button  every  time.  There  is  nothing  I  like 
better  than  a  gun,  anyway,  and  I  have  never 
since  been  entirely  satisfied  with  anything  less 
than  a  "  75." 

As  you  probably  know,  the  opposing  artillery 
in  this  war  is  so  widely  separated  that  the  gun- 
ners never  see  their  targets,  unless  these  happen 
to  be  buildings  —  and  even  then  it  is  rare.  So, 
since  an  artillery  officer  never  sees  the  enemy 
artillery  or  infantry,  he  must  depend  on  others 
to  give  him  the  range  and  direction. 

For  this  purpose  there  are  balloons  and  aero- 
planes attached  to  each  artillery  unit.  The  aero- 
planes are  equipped  with  wireless,  but  also  signal 
by  smoke  and  direction  of  flight,  while  the  bal- 


With  the  "  75's  ''  57 

loons  use  telephones.  The  observers  have  maps, 
and  powerful  glasses,  and  cameras.  Their  maps 
are  marked  off  in  zones  to  correspond  with  the 
maps  used  by  the  artillery  officers. 

The  observations  are  signaled  to  a  receiving 
station  on  the  ground,  and  are  then  telephoned 
to  the  batteries.  All  our  troops  were  equipped 
with  telephone  signal  corps  detachments,  and  this 
was  a  very  important  arm  of  the  service.  The 
enemy  position  is  shelled  before  an  attack,  either 
en  barrage  or  otherwise,  and  communication 
between  the  waves  of  attack  and  the  artillery  is 
absolutely  necessary.  Bombardments  are  directed 
toward  certain  parts  of  the  enemy  position 
almost  as  accurately  as  you  would  use  a  search- 
light. The  field  telephones  are  very  light,  and 
are  portable  to  the  last  degree.  They  can  be 
rigged  up  or  knocked  down  in  a  very  short  time. 
The  wire  is  wound  on  drums  or  reels,  and  you 
would  be  surprised  to  see  how  quickly  our  corps 
established  communication  from  a  newly  won 
trench  to  headquarters,  for  instance.  They  were 
asking  for  our  casualties  before  we  had  finished 
having  them,  almost. 

Artillery  fire  was  directed  by  men  whose  duty 
it  was  to  dope  out  the  range  from  the  informa- 
tion sent  them  by  the  observers  in  the  air.  Two 
men  were  stationed  at  the  switchboard;  one  man 
to  receive  the  message  and  the  other  to  operate 
the  board.  As  soon  as  the  range  was  plotted 
out,  it  was  telephoned  to  the  gunners  and  they 
did  the  rest. 

The  naval  guns  at  Dixmude  were  mounted  on 


58  Gunner  Depew 

flat  cars,  and  these  were  drawn  back  and  forth 
on  the  track  by  little  Belgian  engines. 

After  I  had  been  at  my  gun  for  several  days 
I  was  ordered  back  to  my  regiment,  which  was 
again  in  the  front  line  trenches.  My  course 
was  past  both  the  British  and  French  lines,  but 
quite  a  distance  behind  the  front  lines. 

Everywhere  there  were  ambulances  and  wagons 
going  backwards  and  forwards.  I  met  one 
French  ambulance  that  was  typical  of  all  the 
rest.  It  was  a  long  wagon  full  of  poilus  from 
a  field  hospital  near  the  firing  line,  and  was 
driven  by  a  man  whose  left  arm  was  bandaged 
to  the  shoulder.  Two  poilus,  who  sat  in  the 
rear,  on  guard,  had  each  been  wounded  in  the 
leg,  and  one  had  had  a  big  strip  of  his  scalp 
torn  off.  There  was  not  a  sound  man  in  the 
bunch.  You  can  imagine  what  their  cargo  was 
like,  if  the  convoy  was  as  used  up  as  these  chaps. 
But  all  who  could  were  singing  and  talking  and 
full  of  pep.  That  is  the  French  for  you;  they 
used  no  more  men  than  they  could  possibly 
spare  to  take  care  of  the  wounded,  but  they  were 
all  cheerful  about  it  —  always. 

Just  after  I  passed  this  ambulance,  the  Ger- 
mans began  shelling  a  section  of  the  road  too 
near  me  to  be  comfortable,  so  I  beat  it  to  a 
shell  crater  about  twenty  yards  off  the  road,  to 
the  rear.  A  shrapnel  shell  exploded  pretty  near 
me  just  as  I  jumped  into  this  hole  —  I  did  not 
look  around  to  see  how  close  it  was  —  and  I 
remember  now  how  an  old  minstrel  joke  I  had 
heard  on  board  ship  came  to  my  mind  at  the 


With  the  "  75's  >:  59 

time  —  something  about  a  fellow  feeling  so  small 
he  climbed  into  a  hole  and  pulled  it  after  him  — 
and  I  wished  I  might  do  the  same.  I  flattened 
myself  as  close  against  the  wall  of  the  crater 
as  I  could,  and  then  I  noticed  that  somebody 
had  made  a  dugout  in  the  other  wall  of  the 
crater,  and  I  started  for  it. 

The  shells  were  exploding  so  fast  by  that  time 
that  you  could  not  listen  for  each  explosion  sep- 
arately, and  just  as  I  jumped  into  the  dugout 
a  regular  hail  of  shrapnel  fell  on  the  spot  I 
had  just  passed.  It  was  pretty  dark  in  the  dug- 
out, and  the  first  move  I  made  I  bumped  into 
somebody  else,  and  he  let  out  a  yell  that  you 
could  have  heard  for  a  mile.  It  was  a  Tommy 
who  had  been  wounded  in  the  hand,  and  between 
curses,  he  told  me  I  had  sat  right  on  his  wound 
when  I  moved.  I  asked  him  why  he  did  not 
yell  sooner,  but  he  only  swore  some  more.  He 
surely  was  a  great  cusser.  After  a  while  I  asked 
him  if  his  hand  still  hurt  him,  and  he  said: 
"  Hand,  hell!  It's  my  bloody  pipe  IVe  been 
swearing  about,  you  blighter.  I  lost  it  when  the 
damned  bullet  hit  me."  I  gave  him  my  pipe, 
and  he  seemed  perfectly  satisfied  and  did  not 
let  out  another  word. 

The  bombardment  slackened  up  a  bit  about 
this  time,  and  I  thought  I  would  have  a  look 
around.  I  did  not  get  out  of  the  crater  entirely, 
but  moved  around  out  of  the  dugout  until  I 
could  see  the  road  I  had  been  on.  The  first 
thing  I  saw  was  a  broken-down  wagon  that  had 
just  been  hit  —  in  fact,  it  was  toppling  over 


60  Gunner  Depew 

when  my  eye  caught  it.  The  driver  jumped  from 
his  seat,  and  while  he  was  in  the  air,  his  head  was 
torn  completely  from  his  shoulders  by  another 
shell,  I  do  not  know  what  kind.  This  was  enough 
for  me,  so  back  to  the  dugout. 

How  the  Germans  did  it  I  do  not  know,  but 
they  had  found  out  about  that  road,  and  opened 
fire  at  exactly  the  moment  when  the  road  was 
covered  with  wagons  and  men.  Yet  there  had 
not  been  a  balloon  or  aeroplane  in  the  sky  for 
some  time. 

After  a  while  the  bombardment  moved  away 
to  the  east,  from  which  direction  I  had  come, 
and  I  knew  our  batteries  were  getting  it.  The 
Tommy  and  I  came  out  of  the  dugout  As  I 
started  climbing  up  the  muddy  sides  I  saw  there 
was  a  man  standing  at  the  edge  of  it,  and  I 
could  tell  by  his  puttees  that  he  was  a  Limey. 
I  was  having  a  hard  job  of  it,  so  without  look- 
ing up  I  hailed  him. 

11  That  was  sure  some  shelling,  wasn't  it?  " 
I  said.  "  There's  a  lad  down  here  with  a 
wounded  fin;  better  give  him  a  hand.77 

11  What  shelling  do  you  mean,"  says  the  legs, 
without  moving,  "  there's  been  none  in  this 
sector  for  some  time,  I  think." 

The  Tommy  was  right  at  my  heel  by  this  time, 
and  he  let  out  a  string  of  language.  I  was 
surprised,  too,  and  still  scrambling  around  in 
the  mud. 

"  My  God,"  I  says,  "  what  have  you  been 
drinking?  " 

Then  the  Tommy  let  out  a  "  Gawd  'elp  us!  " 


With  the  "  75's  '  61 

and  I  looked  up  and  saw  that  the  legs  belonged 
to  a  Limey  officer,  a  major,  I  think.  And  here 
we  had  been  ens  sing  the  eyes  off  of  him! 

But  he  sized  it  up  rightly  and  gave  us  a 
hand,  and  only  laughed  when  we  tried  to  explain. 
I  got  rattled  and  told  him  that  all  I  saw  was 
his  legs,  and  that  they  did  not  look  like  an 
officer's  legs,  which  might  have  made  it  worse, 
only  he  was  good  natured  about  it.  Then  he 
said  that  he  had  been  asleep  in  a  battalion 
headquarters  dugout,  about  a  hundred  yards 
away,  and  only  waked  up  when  part  of  the  roof 
caved  in  on  him.  Yet  he  did  not  know  he  had 
been  shelled! 

I  went  on  down  the  road  a  stretch,  but  soon 
found  it  was  easier  walking  beside  it,  because 
the  Huns  had  shelled  it  neatly  right  up  and 
down  the  middle.  Also,  there  were  so  many 
wrecked  horses  and  wagons  to  climb  over  on 
the  road  —  besides  dead  men. 

After  I  had  passed  the  area  of  the  bombard- 
ment and  got  back  on  the  road,  I  sat  down  to 
rest  and  smoke.  A  couple  of  shells  had  burst 
so  near  the  crater  that  they  had  thrown  the 
dirt  right  into  the  dugout,  and  I  was  a  little 
dizzy  from  the  shock.  While  I  was  sitting 
there  a  squad  of  Tommies  came  up  with  about 
twice  their  number  of  German  prisoners.  The 
Tommies  had  been  making  Fritz  do  the  goose 
step,  and  they  started  them  at  it  again  when 
they  saw  me  sitting  there.  It  sure  is  ^ood  for 
a  laugh  any  time,  this  goose  step.  I  guess  they 
call  it  that  after  the  fellow  who  invented  it 


62  Gunner  Depew 

One  thing  I  had  noticed  about  a  Fritz  was 
the  way  his  coat  flared  out  at  the  bottom^  so 
I  took  this  chance  to  find  out  about  it,  while 
they  halted  for  a  rest  just  a  little  farther  down 
the  road.  I  found  that  they  carried  their  emer- 
gency kits  in  their  coats.  These  kits  contained 
canned  meat,  tobacco,  needles,  thread  and  plas- 
ter —  all  this  in  addition  to  their  regular  pack. 

Then  I  drilled  down  the  road  some  more,  but 
had  to  stop  pretty  soon  to  let  a  column  of 
French  infantry  swing  on  to  the  road  from  a 
field.  They  were  on  their  way  to  the  trenches 
as  reinforcements.  After  every  two  companies 
there  would  be  a  wagon.  Pretty  soon  I  saw  the 
uniform  of  the  Legion.  Then  a  company  of 
my  regiment  came  up  and  I  wheeled  in  with 
them.  We  were  in  the  rear  of  the  column. 
Our  boys  were  not  part  of  the  column  tkat  had 
just  passed,  but  were  going  up  for  their  regular 
stunt  in  the  front  lines,  while  the  others  had 
just  arrived  at  that  part  of  the  front. 

Then  for  the  first  time  my  feet  began  hurting 
me.  Our  boots  were  made  of  rough  cowhide  and 
fitted  very  well,  but  it  was  a  day's  labor  to 
carry  them  on  your  feet.  I  began  lagging  behind. 
I  would  lag  twenty  or  thirty  yards  behind  and 
then  try  to  catch  up.  But  the  thousands  of  men 
ahead  of  me  kept  up  the  steady  pace  and  very 
few  limped,  though  they  had  been  on  the  march 
since  3  a.  m.  It  was  then  about  11  a.  m.  Those 
who  did  limp  were  carried  in  the  wagons.  But 
I  had  seen  very  few  men  besides  the  drivers 
riding  in  the  wagons,  and  I  wanted  to  be  as 


With  the  "  75's  '•  63 

tough  as  the  next  guy,  so  I  kept  on.  But, 
believe  me,  I  was  sure  glad  when  we  halted  for 
a  rest  along  the  road. 

That  is,  the  reinforcements  did!  Our  com- 
pany of  the  Legion  had  not  come  from  so  far, 
and  when  the  front  of  the  column  had  drawn  out 
of  the  way  along  the  road,  we  kept  on  filing,  as 
the  saying  it.  I  did  not  care  about  being  tough 
then,  and  I  was  ready  for  the  wagon. 

Only  now  there  were  no  wagons!  They 
belonged  with  the  other  troops.  So  I  had  to  ease 
along  as  best  I  could  for  what  seemed  like  hours 
—  to  my  feet  —  until  we  turned  off  onto  another 
road  and  halted  for  a  rest.  I  found  out  later 
that  our  officers  had  gone  astray  and  were  lost 
at  this  time,  though,  of  course,  they  did  not  tell 
us  so.  But  I  suspected  it  then,  for,  when  some 
traveling  stoves  or  soup  kitchens  came  up  the 
road,  our  officers  stopped  them,  and  made  them 
serve  us  with  the  soup  they  had  been  cooking 
while  they  traveled  along.  They  would  not  have 
done  this  if  we  had  not  been  lost,  because 
they  would  either  have  known  they  were  close 
to  our  destination,  or  would  have  brought  a 
commissary  with  them. 

But  I  did  not  stop  to  argue  about  it.  I 
understood  very  clearly  that  I  was  hungry,  and 
I  think  I  would  have  enjoyed  a  bale  of  hay  just 
as  well  as  the  soup  kitchen  horses  did.  These 
soup  kitchens,  by  the  way,  always  reminded  me 
of  a  small  town  fire  engine,  and  I  could  never 
see  one  without  expecting  it  to  come  tearing 
along  with  the  horses  galloping  and  a  fellow 


64  Gunner  Depew 

hanging  on  to  the  stern  ringing  a  gong.  I 
dreamed  of  this  once,  in  a  firing  line  dugout, 
and  just  as  plain  as  day  I  saw  the  soup  kitchen 
dash  past,  with  the  fellow  ladling  out  soup  as 
fast  as  he  could  go. 

We  arrived  at  our  section  of  the  trench  about 
3  o'clock  that  afternoon,  and  I  rejoined  my  com- 
pany. I  was  all  tired  out  after  this  trek,  and 
found  myself  longing  for  the  Cassard  and  the 
ruling  wave,  where  no  Marathons  and  five-mile 
hikes  were  necessary.  But  this  was  not  in  store 
for  me  —  yet 


How  we  give  'em  the  butt  " 


CHAPTER  VI 
FRITZ   DOES   A   LITTLE   "  STRAFEING  " 

My  outfit  was  one  of  those  that  saw  the  Ger- 
mans place  women  and  children  in  front  of  them 
as  shields  against  our  fire.  More  than  a  third 
of  our  men,  I  should  say,  had  been  pretty  tough 
criminals  in  their  own  countries.  They  always 
traded  their  pay  against  a  handful  of  cards,  or 
a  roll  of  the  bones,  whenever  they  got  a  chance. 
They  had  been  in  most  of  the  dirty  parts  of  the 
world.  This  war  was  not  such  a  much  to  them; 
just  one  more  job  in  the  list.  They  could  call 
God,  and  the  saints,  and  the  human  body,  more 
things  than  any  boss  stevedore  that  ever  lived. 

Yet  they  were  religious,  in  a  way.  Some  of 
them  were  always  reading  religious  books  or 
saying  prayers  in  different  ways,  and  between 
them  they  believed  in  every  religion  and  super- 
stition under  the  sun,  I  guess.  Yet  they  were 
the  toughest  bunch  I  ever  saw. 

After  they  saw  the  Germans  using  the  Bel- 
gian women  the  way  they  did,  almost  every  man 
in  my  company  took  some  kind  of  a  vow  or 
other,  and  most  of  them  kept  their  vows,  too, 
I  believe.  And  those  that  were  religious  got 
more  so,  after  that. 

65 


66  Gunner  Depew 

Our  chaplain  had  always  been  very  friendly 
with  the  men,  and  while  I  think  they  liked  him, 
they  were  so  tough  they  would  never  admit  it, 
and  some  of  them  claimed  he  was  a  Jonah,  or 
jinx,  or  bad  luck  of  some  kind.  But  they  all 
told  him  their  vows,  as  soon  as  they  made  them, 
and  he  was  supposed  to  be  a  sort  of  referee 
as  to  whether  they  kept  them  or  not. 

The  men  of  the  Legion  were  always  singing. 
Whenever  they  would  be  on  the  march,  they 
would  pipe  up,  and  no  bunch  of  two  or  three 
could  get  together  without  trying  out  a  barber 
shop  chord  or  two.  As  you  probably  know, 
American  rag-time  is  the  rage  in  France,  and 
they  knew  a  lot  of  popular  songs  that  we  have 
heard  over  here.  Sometimes  they  sang  them 
in  French  and  sometimes  in  English. 

The  songs  they  seemed  to  like  best  were 
usually  parodies,  such  as  "It's  a  Long  Way  to 
St.  Helena."  They  also  were  fond  of  one  of 
the  many  alleged  Hawaiian  songs  —  they  all  sound 
alike  to  me  —  about  Waikiki  or  Mauna  Loa  or 
neighboring  ports.  Then  they  had  songs  that 
they  made  up  themselves,  one  for  almost  every 
important  battle  the  Legion  ever  fought  in.  But 
the  song  I  liked  best  was  an  old  song  of  the 
Legion,  one  of  their  many  historical  songs,  which 
was  called  "  Rataplan."  Believe  me,  it  was 
great  stuff  to  swing  along  a  road  with  the  whole 
bunch  roaring,  "  Rrrrrrat-a-pfaw/  '  Another 
tune  that  I  liked  was  the  regimental  march, 
"  Allons,  Giron."  The  men  used  to  sing  or  hum 
these  songs  even  in  the  trenches,  or  while  we 


Fritz  Does  a  Little  "  Strafeing  '       67 

were  consolidating  an  enemy  position  that  we 
had  taken. 

During  my  second  stunt  in  the  front  lines 
things  got  pretty  bad.  The  Germans  were  five 
to  our  one,  and  they  kept  pushing  back  parts 
of  the  line  and  cleaning  out  others.  And  the 
weather  was  as  bad  as  it  could  be,  and  the  food 
did  not  always  come  regularly.  Now,  before  they 
took  their  vows,  every  last  man  in  the  bunch 
would  have  been  kicking  and  growling  all  the 
time,  but  as  it  was,  the  only  time  they  growled 
was  when  the  Germans  pushed  us  back. 

Things  kept  getting  worse,  and  you  could 
see  that  the  men  talked  to  the  chaplain  more, 
and  quite  a  few  of  them  got  real  chummy  with 
him. 

One  morning  Fritz  started  in  bright  and  early 
to  begin  his  strafe.  The  lieutenant  was  walking 
up  and  down  the  trench  to  see  that  the  sentries 
were  properly  posted  and  were  on  the  job.  A 
shell  whizzed  over  his  head  and  landed  just 
behind  the  parados,  and  the  dirt  spouted  up  like 
I  imagine  a  Yellowstone  geyser  looks. 

Another  officer  came  up  to  the  lieutenant  —  a 
new  one  who  had  only  joined  the  company  about 
a  week  before.  They  had  walked  about  ten  yards 
when  another  shell  whizzed  over  them.  They 
laid  to,  and  a  third  one  came.  There  were  three 
in  less  than  five  minutes,  directly  over  their 
heads. 

Then  a  shell  landed  in  the  left  side  of  the 
trench,  and  a  pottu  yelled  that  four  men  had 
got  it.  They  were  all  wounded,  and  three  died 


68 

later.  The  lieutenant  went  over  to  them,  and 
just  after  he  passed  me,  a  lad  got  it  square 
not  far  from  me  and  was  knocked  over  to  where 
I  was  lying. 

The  lieutenant  came  back  and  helped  me  with 
the  first-aid  roll,  and  then  the  Germans  began 
using  shrapnel.  The  lieutenant  was  swearing 
hard  about  the  shrapnel,  and  the  Germans,  and 
everything  else. 

Farther  to  the  right  a  shell  had  just  struck 
near  the  parados  and  made  a  big  crater,  and 
across  from  it,  against  the  parapet,  was  a  young 
chap  with  a  deep  gash  in  his  head,  sitting  on 
the  fire  step,  and  next  to  him  a  fellow  nursing 
the  place  where  his  arm  had  been  blown  off. 
Our  bread  ration  lay  all  about  the  trench,  and 
some  of  the  potttis  were  fishing  it  out  of  the  mud 
and  water,  and  wiping  the  biscuits  off  on  their 
sleeves  or  eating  as  fast  as  they  could.  Only, 
some  of  the  biscuits  had  fallen  in  bloody  water, 
and  they  did  not  eat  these. 

A  young  fellow,  hardly  more  than  a  boy, 
stumbled  over  the  parados,  and  fell  into  the 
trench  right  near  the  lieutenant,  and  the  lieu- 
tenant dressed  his  wounds  himself.  I  think  he 
was  some  relation  of  the  boy. 

The  lieutenant  asked  him  how  he  felt,  but  the 
boy  only  asked  for  water  and  smiled.  But  you 
could  see  he  was  in  great  pain.  Then  the  boy 
said:  "  Oh,  the  pain  is  awful.  I  am  going  to 
die." 

"  You  are  all  right,  old  man,"  the  lieutenant 
said.  "  You  will  be  home  soon.  The  stretcher- 


Fritz  Does  a  Little  "  Strafeing  "      69 

bearers  are  coming."  So  we  passed  the  word 
for  the  stretcher-bearers. 

Then  he  took  the  water  bottle  from  the  boy's 
side,  and  sat  him  up  and  gave  him  some  water. 
He  left  the  water  bottle  with  the  chap,  and 
went  to  hurry  the  stretcher-bearers  along.  When 
he  got  around  the  corner  of  the  trench,  the  boy 
was  slipping  back,  and  the  water  bottle  had 
fallen  down.  So  I  went  over  to  him  and  propped 
him  up  again,  and  gave  him  some  more  water. 

The  lieutenant  came  back  with  the  stretcher- 
bearers,  and  he  asked  one  of  them,  so  the  boy 
could  not  hear  him,  if  the  boy  would  live. 

The  stretcher-bearer  said:  "  I  don't  think  so. 
One  through  his  chest,  and  right  leg  broken," 

The  boy  had  kept  quiet  for  a  while,  but  all  of 
a  sudden  he  yelled,  "  In  the  name  of  Christ, 
give  me  a  cigarette !  '  I  handed  him  a  cigarette 
butt  that  I  had  found  in  the  dugout.  We  were 
all  out  of  cigarettes. 

So  they  lit  it  for  him,  and  he  kept  quiet.  As 
soon  as  they  could,  they  got  around  the  corner 
of  the  fire  bay  with  him  and  through  a  commu- 
nication trench  to  a  field  hospital.  The  lieu- 
tenant and  I  walked  a  little  way  with  him,  and 
he  began  to  thank  us,  and  he  told  the  lieutenant: 
"  Old  man,  you  have  been  a  father  and  a  mother 
to  me." 

And  the  lieutenant  said  to  him:  "  You  have 
done  damn  well,  old  boy.  You  have  done  more 
than  your  share." 

When  they  started  into  the  communication 
trench,  the  boy  began  to  scream  again.  And  the 


70  Gunner  Depew 

lieutenant  acted  like  a  wild  man.  He  took  out 
his  cigarette  case,  but  there  were  no  cigarettes 
in  it,  and  then  he  swore  and  put  it  back  again. 
But  in  a  few  minutes  he  had  the  case  out  again, 
and  was  swearing  worse  than  ever,  and  talking 
to  himself. 

"  The  boy  isn't  dying  like  a  gentleman,"  he 
said.  "  Why,  in  God's  name,  couldn't  he  keep 
quiet. "  I  do  not  think  he  meant  it.  He  was 
all  nervous  and  excited,  and  kept  taking  out  his 
cigarette  case  and  putting  it  back  again. 

The  other  officer  had  gone  on  to  inspect  the 
sentries  when  the  boy  rolled  into  the  trench, 
and  a  poilu  came  up  to  tell  us  that  the  officer 
had  been  hit.  We  walked  back  to  where  I  had 
been,  and  there  was  the  officer.  If  I  had  been 
there  I  would  have  got  it,  too,  I  guess.  He  was 
an  awful  mess.  The  veins  were  sticking  out 
of  his  neck,  and  one  side  of  him  was  blown 
off,  so  you  could  see  his  entrails.  Also,  his  foot 
was  wounded.  That  is  what  shrapnel  does  to 
you.  As  I  crawled  past  him  I  happened  to  touch 
his  foot,  and  he  damned  me  all  over  the  place. 
But  when  I  tried  to  say  I  was  sorry,  I  could 
not,  for  then  he  apologized  and  died  a  moment 
later. 

There  was  a  silver  cigarette  case  sticking  out 
of  the  rags  where  his  side  had  been  blown  away, 
and  the  lieutenant  crossed  himself,  and  reached 
in  and  took  out  the  case.  But  when  he  pried 
open  the  case  he  found  that  it  had  been  bent 
and  cracked,  and  all  the  cigarettes  were  soaked 
with  blood.  He  swore  worse  than  ever,  then, 


Fritz  Does  a  Little  "  Strafeing  "      71 

and  threw  his  own  case  away,  putting  the  other 
officer's  case  in  his  pocket. 

At  this  point,  our  own  artillery  began  shelling, 
and  we  received  the  order  to  stand  to  with  fixed 
bayonets.  When  we  got  the  order  to  advance, 
some  of  the  men  were  already  over  the  parapet, 
and  the  whole  bunch  after  them,  and,  believe  me, 
I  was  as  pale  as  a  sheet,  just  scared  to  death. 
I  think  every  man  is  when  he  goes  over  for  the 
first  time  —  every  time  for  that  matter.  But  I 
was  glad  we  were  going  to  get  some  action, 
because  it  is  hard  to  sit  around  in  a  trench 
under  fire  and  have  nothing  to  do.  I  had  all 
I  could  do  to  hold  my  rifle. 

We  ran  across  No  Man's  Land.  I  can  not 
remember  much  about  it.  But  when  we  got  to 
the  German  trench  I  fell  on  top  of  a  young 
fellow,  and  my  bayonet  went  right  through  him. 
It  was  a  crime  to  get  him,  at  that.  He  was  as 
delicate  as  a  pencil. 

When  I  got  back  to  our  trenches  after  my 
first  charge,  I  could  not  sleep  for  a  long  time 
afterwards,  for  remembering  what  that  fellow 
looked  like,  and  how  my  bayonet  slipped  into  him 
and  how  he  screamed  when  he  fell.  He  had  his 
legs  and  his  neck  twisted  under  him  after  he 
got  it.  I  thought  about  it  a  lot,  and  it  got  to 
be  almost  a  habit  that  whenever  I  was  going  to 
sleep  I  would  think  about  him,  and  then  all  hope 
of  sleeping  was  gone. 

Our  company  took  a  German  trench  that  time, 
and  along  with  another  company,  four  hundred 
prisoners.  We  had  to  retire,  because  the  men 


72  Gunner  Depew 

on  our  sides  did  not  get  through,  and  we  were 
being  flanked.  But  we  lost  a  lot  of  men  doing  it. 

When  we  returned  to  our  trenches  OUT*  outfit 
was  simply  all  in,  and  we  were  lying  around  in 
the  front  line,  like  a  bunch  of  old  rags  in  a 
narrow  alley.  None  of  us  showed  any  signs  of 
life,  except  a  working  party  that  was  digging 
with  picks  and  shovels  at  some  bodies  that  had 
been  frozen  into  the  mud  of  the  trench. 

I  used  to  think  all  the  Germans  were  big  and 
fat  and  strong,  and,  of  course,  some  of  the 
Grenadier  regiments  are,  but  lots  of  the  boches 
I  saw  were  little  and  weak  like  this  fellow  I 
"  got  "  in  my  first  charge. 

It  was  a  good  piece  of  work  to  take  the 
prisoners,  and  a  novelty  for  me  to  look  them 
in  the  face  —  the  fellows  I  had  been  fighting. 
Because,  when  you  look  a  Hun  in  the  face,  you 
can  see  the  yellow  streak.  Even  if  you  are  their 
prisoner,  you  can  tell  that  the  Huns  are  yellow. 

Maybe  you  have  heard  pigs  being  butchered. 
It  sounded  like  that  when  we  got  to  them.  When 
they  attacked  us,  they  yelled  to  beat  the  band. 
I  guess  they  thought  they  could  scare  us.  But 
you  can  not  scare  machine  guns,  nor  the  For- 
eign Legion,  either.  So  when  they  could  not 
scare  us,  they  were  up  against  it  and  had  to 
fight.  I  will  admit,  though,  that  the  first  time 
Fritz  came  over  and  began  yelling  I  thought 
the  whole  German  army  was  after  me,  at  that, 
and  Kaiser  Bill  playing  the  drum.  And  how 
they  hate  a  bayonet!  They  would  much  rather 
sit  in  a  ditch  and  pot  you. 


Fritz  Does  a  Little  "  Strafeing  ':      73 

I  admit  I  am  not  crazy  about  bayonet  fighting 
myself,  as  a  general  proposition,  but  I  will  say 
that  there  have  been  times  when  I  was  serving  a 
gun  behind  the  front  lines  when  I  wished  for  a 
rifle  and  a  bayonet  in  my  hands  and  a  chance 
at  Fritz  man  to  man. 

It  was  in  this  charge  that  our  chaplain  was 
put  out  of  commission.  As  we  were  lined  up, 
waiting  to  climb  on  to  the  fire  step,  and  then 
over  the  parapet,  this  chaplain  came  down  the 
line  speaking  to  each  man  as  he  went.  He  would 
not  say  much,  but  just  a  few  words  and  then 
make  the  sign  of  the  cross.  He  was  in  a  black 
cassock. 

He  was  just  one  man  from  me  as  we  got  the 
word,  and  stood  up  on  the  fire  step.  He  was 
not  armed  with  as  much  as  a  pin,  but  he  jumped 
up  on  the  step  and  stuck  his  head  over  the  par- 
apet, and  got  it  square,  landing  right  beside 
me.  I  thought  he  was  killed,  but  when  we  got 
back  we  found  he  was  only  wounded.  The  men 
who  saw  it  were  over  the  parapet  before  the 
order  was  given,  and  then  the  whole  bunch  after 
them,  because  they,  too,  thought  he  was  killed, 
and  figured  he  never  would  know  how  they  came 
out  about  their  vows.  All  the  men  in  the  com- 
pany were  glad  when  they  found  he  was  only 
wounded. 

While  half  of  us  were  on  the  firing  step 
throughout  the  day,  or  night,  the  other  half 
would  be  in  the  dugouts,  or  sitting  around  in 
the  bottom  of  the  trench,  playing  little  games, 


74  Gunner  Depew 

or  mending  clothes,  or  sleeping,  or  cooking,  or 
doing  a  thousand  and  one  things.  The  men  were 
always  in  good  humor  at  such  times,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  even  more  so  when  the  enemy  fire 
was  heavy. 

If  a  man  was  slightly  wounded,  down  would 
come  the  rifles  to  order  arms,  and  some  pottu 
was  sure  to  shout,  * '  Right  this  way.  One  franc. ' ' 
It  was  a  sort  of  standing  joke,  and  they  always 
did  it.  The  poilu  who  did  it  most  of  the  time 
was  a  Swiss,  and  he  was  always  playing  a  joke 
on  somebody,  or  imitating  some  one  of  us,  or 
making  faces. 

Then  he  would  shout,  as  though  he  was  selling 
tickets  to  a  show:  "  Don't  rush!  There's  plenty 
of  room.  Watch  your  purses!  '  and  so  on. 
One  time,  while  we  were  under  a  very  heavy 
bombardment,  and  it  was  too  dangerous  to  go 
through  the  communication  trenches,  two  fellows 
both  got  wounded  in  the  left  hand.  They  were 
around  the  corner  of  the  trench  from  each  other, 
but  this  Swiss  got  wind  of  them  and  brought 
one  of  them  up  to  the  other  and  pretended 
to  introduce  them.  He  said  they  would  now  be 
comrades  in  hands  instead  of  arms,  only  that 
each  had  got  it  in  the  same  hand.  Pretty  soon 
he  had  them  playing  marbles  with  some  shrap- 
net  bullets  that  had  fallen  near  them.  I  do  not 
know  what  countries  these  two  fellows  were 
from,  but  they  both  spoke  English.  I  had  never 
heard  them  speak  anything  but  French  before 
they  were  wounded,  though.  I  tried  to  talk  to 


Fritz  Does  a  Little  "  Strafeing  "      75 

them,  then,  but  they  did  not  want  to  talk  to 
me.  They  played  marbles  there  for  some  time, 
until  they  could  go  out  to  the  dressing-station. 

This  same  Swiss  got  hold  of  a  revolver  some- 
where, and  he  used  to  spend  his  spare  time 
potting  trench  rats.  He  would  save  some  of 
his  bread  ration  and  put  it  on  the  parados,  and 
then  lay  for  the  rats.  He  killed  lots  of  them. 
He  used  to  give  some  of  the  dead  rats  to  the 
rifle  grenadiers,  and  he  claimed  that  they  shot 
them  over  with  the  rifle  grenades  to  Fritz.  I 
do  not  know  whether  they  really  did  or  not, 
but  I  know  he  used  to  throw  dead  rats  at  the 
German  trenches  when  we  were  only  forty-five 
yards  from  them.  And  some  of  the  men  said 
he  went  on  a  raiding  party  one  time  with  a 
haversack  full  of  dead  rats. 

So  we  were  all  sorry  when  this  Swiss  "  went 
West,"  as  the  Limeys  say,  and  we  tried  to  keep 
up  his  jokes  and  say  the  same  things  and  so 
forth.  But  they  did  not  go  very  well  after  he 
was  dead.  He  got  his  in  the  same  charge  in 
which  the  chaplain  was  wounded.  He  was  one 
of  the  bunch  that  charged  before  the  order  was 
given,  when  the  chaplain  got  it,  and  was  run- 
ning pretty  near  me  until  we  got  to  the  boche 
wire.  I  had  to  stop  to  get  through,  though  most 
of  it  was  cut  up  by  artillery  fire,  but  he  must 
have  jumped  it,  for  when  I  looked  up  he  was 
twenty  or  thirty  paces  ahead  of  me.  We  got 
to  the  Germans  about  that  time,  and  I  was  pretty 
busy  for  a  while.  But  soon  I  saw  him  again. 
He  was  pulling  his  bayonet  out  of  a  boche, 


76  Gunner  Depew 

when  another  one  made  a  jab  at  him  and  stuck 
him  in  the  arm.  Then  the  boche  made  a  swing 
at  him  with  his  rifle,  but  the  Swiss  dropped 
on  one  knee  and  dodged  it  He  kept  defending 
himself  with  his  rifle,  but  there  was  another 
German  on  him  by  this  time,  and  he  could  not 
get  up.  The  corporal  of  our  squad  came  up 
just  about  that  time,  but  he  was  too  late, 
because  one  of  the  boches  got  to  the  Swiss  with 
his  bayonet.  He  did  not  have  time  to  withdraw 
it  before  our  corporal  stuck  him.  The  other 
German  made  a  pass  at  the  corporal,  but  he 
was  too  late.  The  corporal  beat  him  to  it,  and 
felled  him  with  a  terrific  blow  from  his  rifle  butt. 
The  Huns  were  pretty  thick  around  there  just 
as  another  fellow  and  myself  came  up.  A  boche 
swung  his  rifle  at  the  corporal,  and  when  he 
dodged  it,  the  boche  almost  got  me.  The  swing 
took  him  off  his  feet,  and  then  the  corporal  did 
as  pretty  a  bit  of  work  as  I  ever  saw.  He 
jumped  for  the  boche  who  had  fallen,  landed  on 
his  face  with  both  feet,  and  gave  it  to  the  next 
one  with  his  bayonet  all  at  the  same  time.  He 
was  the  quickest  man  I  ever  saw. 

There  were  a  couple  of  well-known  savate  men 
in  the  next  company,  and  I  saw  one  of  them 
get  under  Fritz's  guard  with  his  foot,  and, 
believe  me,  there  was  some  force  in  that  kick. 
He  must  have  driven  the  German's  chin  clear 
through  the  back  of  his  neck. 

We  thought  it  was  pretty  tough  luck  to  lose 
both  the  chaplain  and  the  village  wit  in  the 
same  charge,  along  with  half  of  our  officers, 


Fritz  Does  a  Little  "  Strafeing  ':      77 

and  then  have  to  give  up  the  trench.  Every 
man  in  the  bunch  was  sore  as  a  boil  when  we 
got  back. 

As  you  probably  know,  it  is  the  usual  thing 
over  there  to  give  the  men  in  the  trenches  a 
small  issue  of  rum  before  they  go  over  the  top 
to  tackle  the  boches.  They  say  there  are  lots  of 
people  in  this  country  who  think  it  is  very  wrong 
to  give  the  soldiers  rum. 

Well,  now: 

Suppose  you  have  not  changed  your  shoes  or 
socks  for  five  days.  And  suppose  that  all  this 
time  you  have  been  in  water  up  to  your  knees, 
and  have  had  to  snatch  your  sleep,  four  hours 
at  a  time,  in  stinking  mud  that  reminds  you  of 
the  time  they  flushed  the  sewer  in  front  of  your 
house.  Suppose  your  clothes  are  soaked  through 
and  through  with  rain,  and  mud,  and  sweat,  and 
worse,  and  that  they,  too,  have  been  on  you 
for  five  days.  And  besides,  they  are  so  stiff 
with  dirt,  or  maybe  blood,  that  they  will  only 
bend  where  they  are  freshly  wet  — 

Suppose  you  are  simply  swarming  with  body 
lice.  You  can  hardly  sleep  for  the  itching  all 
over  your  body,  and  when  you  roll  over,  some- 
times, you  can  almost  hear  the  crackling  as  the 
lice  are  mashed  against  you.  Imagine  yourself 
waking  up  some  fine  morning  to  find  a  rat  almost 
as  big  as  a  cat  gnawing  your  boot.  Think  of 
waking  up  suddenly  in  the  dark  and  feeling  the 
wet  fur  of  a  rat  brush  under  your  chin  — 

And  suppose,  too,  that  a  few  yards  in  front 


78  Gunner  Depew 

of  yon  there  are  rotting  human  bodies  sunk  in 
the  mud.  And  some  of  them  were  once  men 
who  had  loaned  you  cigarettes  and  showed  you 
photographs  — 

Suppose  your  special  pal's  brains  had  been 
blown  all  over  you  two  hours  before.  Think  of 
the  horror  of  reaching  into  a  mud  bank  in  the 
gray,  cold  morning  and  pulling  out  a  magotty 
human  hand  — 

You  have  lived  between  a  thunder-clap  and  a 
flash  of  lightning  for  five  days,  and  have  stared 
at  two  walls  of  mud  for  the  same  length  of  time. 
And  your  nerves  jump  and  shiver  every  time 
there  is  a  moment's  silence  — 

Imagine  the  discomfort  of  lining  up  at  4:30 
on  a  snowy  morning,  loaded  down  under  dead 
pounds  of  pack,  and  overcoat  and  rifle.  And 
suppose,  that  in  a  few  minutes,  you  were  going 
to  climb  over  your  mud  wall,  and  run  through 
the  dark,  and  trip  over  barbed  wires  and  bodies, 
and  fall  in  shell  holes  full  of  slime;  that  thou- 
sands of  jagged  pieces  of  iron  were  going  to 
whizz  past  you,  that  machine  guns  would  be 
sweeping  over  the  whole  field,  that  shells  the  size 
of  umbrella-stands  would  be  exploding  all  around 
you,  that  thousands  of  rifle  bullets  were  search- 
ing for  you  — 

Suppose,  too,  that  if  you  got  past  all  these 
things,  you  were  going  to  stick  a  sharp  piece 
of  steel  into  a  soft,  grunting  body,  and  put  your 
foot  in  its  ugly  face  and  pull  your  steel  out, 
and  rush  on  and  do  it  over  again,  and  swing 
your  rifle-butt  against  a  chattering  head.  And 


Fritz  Does  a  Little  "  Strafeing '       79 

that  if  you  did  not  do  these  things,  they  would 
be  done  to  you,  and  probably  would  anyway  — 

And  that,  if  you  did  do  them,  and  your  com- 
rades did,  there  would  be  two  or  three  hours 
digging  in  the  captured  trench  to  hold  it  in  the 
face  of  the  enemy  — 

Suppose  you  were  as  miserable  as  five  days' 
hell  in  a  sewer  could  make  you,  and  knew  you 
had  to  do  all  these  things,  and  that  you  would 
have  to  start  doing  them  in  fifteen  minutes. 
Meanwhile  you  were  so  cold  you  could  not  move 
without  aching,  and  you  were  consumed  with  the 
fear  that  the  crucial  moment  might  find  you 
afraid  — 

And  suppose  the  man  next  to  you  was  just 
drinking  a  mouthful  of  stuff  that  would  warm 
him,  and  brace  him,  and  help  him  over  into  his 
day's  work  — 

And  suppose  the  non-com  was  offering  you  a 
drink  of  the  same  stuff  — 

Wouldn't  you  take  it? 

You  men  in  slippers,  with  fluffy  balls  on  them, 
and  fur  around  the  edges,  sitting  in  a  Morris 
chair,  with  the  throttle  pulled  way  open,  and  a 
box  of  Peerless  Dainties  on  the  arm  — 

What  do  you  think  about  it?  Do  you  not  think 
that  the  boys  over  there  ought  to  have  a  little 
of  this  stuff  now  and  then? 

In  the  seven  months  that  have  passed  since  I 
returned  to  this  country  from  the  German  prison 
camps,  I  have  had  one  cocktail  and  two  coffee 
cognacs.  That  is  how  it  made  a  drunkard  out 
of  me, 


CHAPTER  VII 
STOPPING  THE  HUNS  AT  DIXMUDE 

I  was  standing  in  a  communication  trench 
that  connected  one  of  our  front  line  trenches 
with  a  crater  caused  by  the  explosion  of  a  mine. 
All  around  me  men  of  the  third  line  were  com- 
ing up,  climbing  around,  digging,  hammering, 
shifting  planks,  moving  sand  bags  up  and  down, 
bringing  up  new  timbers,  reels  of  barbed  wire, 
ladders,  cases  of  ammunition,  machine  guns, 
trench  mortars  —  all  the  things  that  make  an 
army  look  like  a  general  store  on  legs. 

The  noise  of  the  guns  was  just  deafening. 
Our  own  shells  passed  not  far  above  our  heads, 
so  close  were  the  enemy  trenches,  and  the 
explosions  were  so  near  and  so  violent  that  when 
you  rested  your  rifle  butt  on  something  solid, 
like  a  rock,  you  could  feel  it  shake  and  hum 
every  time  a  shell  landed. 

Our  first  line  was  just  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
town,  in  trenches  that  had  been  won  and  lost 
by  both  sides  many  times.  Our  second  line  was 
in  the  streets,  and  the  third  line  was  almost  at 
the  south  end  of  the  town. 

The  Huns  were  hard  at  it,  shelling  the  battered 
remains  of  Dixmude,  and  to  the  right  stretcher- 
bearers  were  working  in  lines  so  close  that  they 

80 


Stopping  the  Huns  at  Dixmu.de       81 

looked  like  two  parades  passing  each  other.  But 
the  bearers  from  the  company  near  me  had  not 
returned  from  the  emergency  dressing  station, 
and  the  wounded  were  piling  up,  waiting  for 
them. 

A  company  of  the  2me  Legion  Etrangere  had 
just  come  up  to  take  their  stations  in  the  crater, 
under  the  parapet  of  sandbags.  A  shell  landed 
among  them  just  before  they  entered  the  crater, 
and  sent  almost  a  whole  squad  West,  besides 
wounded  several  others. 

Almost  before  they  occupied  the  crater,  the 
wires  were  laid  and  reached  back  to  us,  and 
the  order  came  for  us  to  remain  where  we  were 
until  further  orders.  So  I  began  to  walk  slowly 
along  behind  a  line  of  legionaries,  who  leaned 
up  against  the  parapet  with  their  rifles  ready. 

I  had  not  got  very  far  when  some  one  said, 
in  a  plain  Bowery  accent,  "  Ah  there,  Doc!  ' 
and  a  little  chap,  in  the  uniform  of  the  Legion, 
with  a  "  tin  basin  "  on  his  head,  left  his  rifle 
leaning  up  against  the  parapet  and  walked  over 
to  where  I  was. 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  Doc?  "  he  said.  "  Nig 
Lamb,  from  the  Fiftieth  Ward?  " 

"  Well,  I'll  be  damned,"  I  said,  "if  it  isn't 
my  old  side-kick,  Nig!     Eight  down  here  in  the 
baldhead  row.     What  do  you  think  of  that?  ' 
But  I  had  never  even  heard  of  him  before. 

II  Guess  you  never  thought  you'd  see  me  here 
in  this  tin  derby,  picking  Fritzes  and  Heinies, 
did  you?     Ain't  it  hell  the  way  they  got  this 
whole  bunch  sewed  up  in  the  gulley?  " 


82  Gunner  Depew 

Then  lie  went  back  to  the  parapet  and  took 
up  his  rifle  again,  and  I  hunched  down  behind 
the  parapet.  "  Nig,"  I  said,  "  how  did  you  come 
to  enlist  in  the  Foreign  Legion?  " 

"  Ahr-rr-r-r-r, "  he  said,  and  a  whole  lot  of 
cuss  words.  "  Too  many  vee-vees,  that's  what 
put  little  Fido  in  the  sausage  mill." 

I  did  not  know  what  he  was   talking  about, 
but  I  let  him  go  on. 

* '  Me  and  two  other  boys  was  handling  some 
ponies  down  to  the  Boolong  track,  when  this 
here  war  busted  open  and  put  everything  on  the 
blink.  *  Aw  hell,'  I  says,  *  let's  go  back  to  Paris 
and  look  'em  over  before  we  ease  back  to  the 
States.' 

II  Say,  these  here  dames  had  went  crazy  over 
this  war  stuff.     '  Vive!  Vive  la  France!  '  they 
says,  and  by  God,  we  vee-veed  too.    We  put  on 
a  little  party  at  one  of  them  cafes,  and  hit  the 
old  vino  till  she  hollered  for  help.     Pretty  soon 
we  began  waving  little  American  flags  and  hol- 
lering, '  To  hell  with  the  Huns,'  and  vee-veeing 
everything  else. 

"  Then,  all  I  can  remember  is  marching  down 
the  boolyvard  with  a  guy  in  red  pants,  and  I 
has  a  committee  meeting  with  a  lot  of  other 
guys,  and  pretty  soon  I  was  hollering:  '  Wow, 
lemme  at  'em!  Vee-vee  la  France!  '  and  all 
like  that. 

"  When  they  asks  me  would  I  sign  up,  I  guess 
I  must  have  said  *  vee-vee,'  and  they  took  it 
for  '  oui,  oui  '  'cause  here  I  am,  and  a  pretty 
damn  long  way  from  home.  Ain't  it  so,  Doc?  " 


Stopping  the  Huns  at  Dixmude       83 

"  So  you  didn't  know  you  enlisted!  " 

"  Ahr-rr-r-r  hell,  does  it  make  any  difference 
to  these  here  guys  what  you  know  and  what  you 
don't?  '  Then  he  began  firing,  though  none  of 
the  rest  were  doing  so,  and  pretty  soon  a  non- 
com  came  along  and  made  him  quit. 

11  There  you  are,  Doc,"  he  said.  "  When  you 
want  action,  you  can't  have  it,  and  when  you 
want  peace  and  quiet  —  bam!  '  Go  out  and  get 
me  a  few  Heinies  fer  breakfast,'  they  says. 

"  Believe  me,  a  guy  can  vee-vee  himself  into 
a  lot  of  trouble  if  he  yells  loud  enough,"  he  said. 
' '  I  'm  getting  mine  right  now. ' ' 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  do  you  know  anything  bet- 
ter to  vee-vee  than  France?  ' 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  N'Yawk!  Vee-vee  N'Yawk! 
Vee-vee  N  'Yawk  —  ' '  and  he  must  have  yelled  it 
fifty  times.  Then  he  began  shooting  again,  Lord 
knows  what  at,  and  the  non-com  ran  up  and 
swore  at  him  in  French,  and  Nig  let  out  another 
"  vee-vee  "  or  two  and  put  down  his  rifle  again. 

The  non-com  looked  at  me  and  shook  his  head 
behind  Nig's  back  and  said  "  cafard."  That  is 
what  they  call  it  when  a  man  goes  crazy  tem- 
porarily. But  I  knew  it  was  just  Nig's  way  of 
letting  off  steam. 

Nig  was  just  starting  to  ask  me  some  ques- 
tions when  the  officers  passed  down  the  line. 
"  Baionnettes,  mes  enfants,"  and  I  went  back  to 
my  own  section. 

Then  we  got  the  complete  orders.  We  were 
to  make  no  noise,  but  were  all  to  be  ready  in 
ten  minutes.  We  put  on  goggles  and  respirators. 


84  Gunner  Depew 

In  ten  minutes  the  bombers  were  to  leave  the 
trenches.  Three  mines  were  to  explode,  and 
then  we  were  to  take  and  hold  a  certain  por- 
tion of  the  enemy  trenches  not  far  off.  We  were 
all  ready  to  start  up  the  ladders,  when  they 
moved  Nig's  section  over  to  ours,  and  he  sneaked 
up  to  me  and  whispered  behind  his  hand,  "  Be 
a  sport,  Doc;  make  it  fifty-fifty  and  gimme  a 
chance. ' ' 

I  did  not  have  any  idea  what  he  meant,  and 
he  had  to  get  back  to  his  squad.  Then  the 
bombers  came  up  to  the  ladders,  masked,  and 
with  loaded  sacks  on  their  left  arms.  "  One 
minute  now,"  said  the  officers,  getting  on  their 
own  ladders  and  drawing  their  revolvers  — 
though  most  of  the  officers  of  the  Legion  charged 
with  rifle  and  bayonet,  like  their  men. 

Then  —  Boom!  Slam!  Bang!  —  and  the  mines 
went  off. 

"  Allezl '  and  then  the  parapet  was  filled 
with  bayonets,  and  men,  scrambling  and  crawling 
and  falling  and  getting  up  again.  The  smoke 
drifted  back  on  us,  and  then  our  own  machine 
guns  began  ahead  of  us. 

Up  toward  the  front,  the  bombers  were  fish- 
ing in  their  bags  and  throwing,  just  like  boys 
after  a  rat  along  the  docks.  The  black  smoke 
from  the  "  Jack  Johnsons  "  rolled  over  us,  and 
probably  there  was  gas,  too,  but  you  could  not 
tell. 

The  front  lines  had  taken  their  trenches  and 
gone  on,  and  you  could  see  them,  when  you  stood 
on  a  parapet,  running  about  like  hounds  through 


Stopping  the  Huns  at  Dixmude       85 

the  enemy  communication  trenches,  bombing  out 
dugouts,  disarming  prisoners  —  very  scarey-look- 
ing  in  their  masks  and  goggles.  The  wounded 
were  coming  back  slowly.  Then  we  got  busy 
with  our  work  in  the  dugouts  and  communica- 
tion trenches  and  fire  bays,  with  bayonets  and 
bombs,  digging  the  boches  out  and  sending  them 
"  West."  And  every  once  in  a  while  a  Fritz  on 
one  side  would  step  out  and  yell  "  Kamarad," 
while,  like  as  not,  on  the  other  side,  his  pal  would 
pot  you  with  a  revolver  when  you  started  to 
pick  him  up,  thinking  he  was  wounded. 

Then  we  stood  aside  at  the  entrance  to  a  dug- 
out and  some  boches  came  out  in  single  file, 
shouting  "  Kamarade  "  for  all  they  were  worth. 
One  of  them  had  his  mask  and  face  blown  off; 
yet  he  was  trying  to  talk,  with  the  tears  rolling 
down  over  the  raw  flesh.  He  died  five  minutes 
later. 

Farther  down  the  trench  we  found  poor  Nig. 
While  we  were  taking  off  his  "  tin  derby  "  and 
tunic,  he  asked  who  it  was,  and  when  I  said, 
11  It's  Doc,"  he  must  have  thought  I  was  a 
medico,  sure  enough. 

"  Through  the  belly,  Doc.  Gimme  a  drink." 
That  would  have  finished  him,  of  course,  so  I 
said  there  was  no  water. 

"  All  right,  Doc,  all  right.  I'll  wait.  It's  in 
the  belly,  ain't  it,  Doc?  It  ain't  nothing,  is  it? 
Pull  me  through,  Doc." 

"  Sure  I  will,  Nig,  You'll  be  all  rignt  in  a 
minute. ' ' 

"  Say,  Doc,  don't  hand  me  no  cones  of  hokey- 


86  Gunner  Depew 

pokey.  Gimme  a  deck  of  the  stuff.  Dope  out 
the  coke,  Doc,  dope  out  the  old  coke.  Tell  me, 
do  I  croak,  Doc?  Well,  I'm  going  to  fool  youse 
the  same  as  I  fooled  the  guys  at  Luke's  Hos- 
pital the  time  I  got  shot  up  in  the  subway.  I've 
went  through  worse  than  this.  I  ain't  hurt  bad, 
am  I  Doc?  " 

I  tried  to  say  something  to  him,  but  he  would 
not  stop  talking. 

II  Would  I  let  myself  croak  so  as  youse  can 
give  me  the  ha-ha?    I  can  see  myself  doing  that 
—  not.     Say,  Doc,  will  you  talk  business?  ' 

"  Listen,  Nig,  the  stretcher-bearers  will  be 
here  in  a  second  —  ' ' 

"  To  hell  with  them  guys.  I'm  asking  you 
if  you'll  make  it  fifty-fifty.  Fifty-fifty,  fifty- 
fifty,  Doc  — fifty-fifty—  " 

He  kept  on,  almost  singing  "  fifty-fifty,"  and 
then  he  was  quiet  for  a  while.  All  of  a  sudden 
he  sang  out:  •"  For  Christ's  sake,  Doc,  talk 
business !  ' '  and  then  not  a  word  out  of  him. 

The  stretcher-bearers  finally  came  up  and  took 
him  away,  but  he  did  not  let  out  a  sound.  They 
reported  back  later  that  he  had  got  it  in  the 
thigh  and  not  the  stomach,  and  a  lad  told  me 
he  kept  yelling  for  Doc  and  singing  fifty-fifty. 
It  got  to  be  a  sort  of  pass  word  in  his  section, 
and  I  am  telling  the  truth  when  I  say  that  I 
have  seen  men  from  his  company  slipping  the 
steel  to  Fritz  and  yelling,  "  Feefty-feefty, 
Doack,"  as  they  did  it. 

I  never  did  hear  what  happened  to  Nig, 
though.  It  was  not  his  graft,  this  war,  as  he 


Stopping  the  Huns  at  Dixmude       87 

said,  and  I  hope  he  got  back  to  N'Yawk  before 
he  went  over  the  top  for  the  last  time. 

One  night,  while  I  was  lying  back  in  the 
trench  trying  not  to  think  of  anything  and  go  to 
sleep,  the  bombs  began  to  get  pretty  thick  around 
there,  and  when  I  could  not  stand  it  any  longer, 
I  rushed  out  into  the  bay  of  the  fire  trench  and 
right  up  against  the  parapet,  where  it  was  safer. 

Hundreds  of  star  shells  were  being  sent  up 
by  both  sides,  and  the  field  and  the  trenches  were 
as  bright  as  day.  All  up  and  down  the  trenches 
our  men  were  dodging  about,  keeping  out  of  the 
way  of  the  bombs  that  were  being  thrown  in  our 
faces.  It  did  not  seem  as  if  there  was  any  place 
where  it  was  possible  to  get  cover.  Most  of  the 
time  I  was  picking  dirt  out  of  my  eyes  that 
explosions  had  driven  into  them. 

If  you  went  into  a  dugout,  the  men  already 
in  there  would  shout,  "  Don't  stick  in  a  bunch 
—  spread  out !  '  While  you  were  in  a  dugout, 
you  kept  expecting  to  be  buried  alive,  and  when 
you  went  outside,  you  thought  the  boches  were 
aiming  at  you  direct  —  and  there  was  no  place 
at  all  where  you  felt  safe. 

But  the  fire  bay  looked  better  than  the  other 
places  to  me.  I  had  not  been  there  more  than 
a  few  minutes  when  a  big  one  dropped  i'i,  and 
then  that  bay  was  just  one  mess.  Out  of  the 
twenty-four  men  in  the  bay  only  eight  escaped. 
We  were  just  nothing  but  blood,  with  pieces  of 
flesh,  and  brains,  and  entrails  all  over  us.  It 
made  me  so  sick  I  just  had  to  lie  down,  and 


88  Gunner  Depew 

vomit,  and  shake,  and  sweat.  I  could  not  move. 
But  I  knew  that  if  that  shell  did  not  get  me, 
the  one  that  did  would  be  the  grand-daddy  of 
all  shells. 

When  the  stretcher-bearers  got  there  they  did 
not  have  much  to  do  in  the  way  of  rescue  —  it 
was  more  pall-bearer's  work. 

A  stretcher-bearer  was  picking  up  one  of  the 
boys,  when  a  grenade  landed  alongside  of  him, 
and  you  could  not  find  a  fragment  of  either  of 
them.  That  made  two  that  landed  within  twelve 
feet  of  me;  yet  I  was  not  even  scratched. 

When  I  got  so  that  I  could  move,  I  went  over 
to  where  the  captain  was  standing,  looking 
through  a  periscope  over  the  parapet.  I  was 
very  nervous  and  excited,  and  was  afraid  to 
speak  to  him,  but  somehow  I  thor^ht  I  ought  to 
ask  for  orders.  But  I  could  no.  say  a  word. 
Finally  a  shell  whizzed  over  our  heads  —  just 
missed  us,  it  seemed  like,  and  I  broke  out: 
"  What  do  you  see?  What's  all  of  the  news?  " 
and  so  on.  I  guess  I  chattered  like  a  monkey. 

Then  he  yelled:  "  You're  the  gunner  officer. 
You're  just  in  time  —  I've  located  their  mortar 
batteries. ' ' 

I  surely  wished  I  was  the  gunner  officer:  I 
would  have  enjoyed  it  more  if  I  could  have  got 
back  at  Fritz  somehow.  But  I  was  not  the 
gunner  officer,  and  I  told  him  so.  I  had  to  shout 
at  him  quite  a  while  before  he  would  believe  me. 
Then  he  wanted  me  to  find  the  gunner  officer, 
but  I  did  not  know  where  to  find  him.  If  I 


Stopping  the  Huns  at  Dixmude       89 

could  have  got  to  our  guns  I  guess  I  would  have 
had  another  medal  for  working  overtime,  hut  I 
missed  the  chance  there. 

About  this  time  another  bomb  came  over  and 
clouted  out  the  best  friend  I  had  in  my  company. 
Before  the  war  he  had  been  one  of  the  finest 
singers  in  the  Paris  opera  houses.  When  he 
was  with  us  he  used  to  say  that  the  only  dif- 
ference between  him  and  Caruso  was  $2,500  a 
night. 

A  pottu  and  I  dragged  him  into  a  dugout,  but 
it  was  too  late.  One  side  of  his  face  was  blown 
off;  the  whole  right  side  of  him  was  stripped 
off,  and  four  fingers  of  the  right  hand  were 
gone. 

I  stuck  my  head  out  of  the  dugout,  and  there 
was  the  captain  discussing  the  matter  with  him- 
self, cursing  the  Germans  from  here  to  Helgo- 
land, and  putting  in  a  word  for  the  bombs  every 
once  in  a  while.  All  up  and  down  the  trenches 
you  could  hear  our  men  cursing  the  Germans  in 
all  kinds  of  languages.  Believe  me,  I  did  my 
bit,  and  I  could  hear  somebody  else  using  good 
old  United  States  cuss  words,  too.  It  certainly 
did  not  make  me  feel  any  better,  but  it  gave 
me  something  to  do.  I  think  that  was  why  all 
of  us  cursed  so  much  then,  though  we  were 
pretty  handy  with  language  at  any  time.  But 
when  you  are  under  heavy  fire  like  that,  and 
can  not  give  it  back  as  good  as  you  get,  you 
go  crazy  unless  you  have  something  to  do. 
Cussing  is  the  best  thing  we  could  think  of. 


90  Gunner  Depew 

Up  the  trench,  the  third  bay  was  simply 
smashed  in,  and  the  Germans  were  placing  bomb 
after  bomb  right  in  it,  and  in  ours.  The  cap- 
tain yelled  out  that  he  was  going  up  to  the 
next  bay  to  examine  it,  but  no  more  had  he 
got  there  than  he  had  his  head  taken  clean  off 
his  shoulders. 

At  daybreak  our  trenches  were  all  pounded  in, 
and  most  of  our  dugouts  were  filled  up.  Then 
Fritz  opened  up  with  his  artillery  fire  right  on 
us.  We  thought  they  were  going  to  charge,  and 
we  figured  their  barrage  would  lift  and  we  could 
see  them  come  over. 

We  received  orders  to  stand  to  with  fixed  bay- 
onets. Then  the  man  at  the  periscope  shouted: 
11  They  come!  " 

A  battery  directly  behind  us  went  into  action 
first,  and  then  they  all  joined  in,  and  inside  of 
five  minutes  about  eight  hundred  guns  were  rais- 
ing hell  with  Fritz.  The  bodies  were  caught 
square  in  No  Man's  Land,  and  our  rifles  and 
machine  guns  simply  mowed  them  down.  Many 
of  them  came  half  way  across,  then  dropped 
their  guns,  and  ran  for  our  trenches  to  give 
themselves  up.  They  could  not  have  got  back 
to  their  own  trenches. 

It  was  a  shame  to  waste  a  shell  on  these  poor 
fish.  If  they  had  been  civvies,  the  law  would 
prevent  you  from  hitting  them  —  you  know  the 
kind.  They  could  hardly  drag  themselves  along. 

That  is  the  way  they  look  when  you  have  got 
them.  But  when  they  have  got  you  —  kicks, 


Stopping  the  Huns  at  Dixmude        91 

cuffs,  bayoaet  jabs  —  there  is  nothing  they  will 
not  do  to  add  to  your  misery.  They  seem  to 
think  that  it  boosts  their  own  courage. 

An  artillery  fire  like  ours  was  great  fun  for 
the  gunners,  but  it  was  not  much  fun  for  Fritz, 
or  for  us  in  the  trenches.  We  got  under  cover 
almost  as  much  as  Fritz,  and  held  thumbs  for 
the  gunners  to  get  through  in  a  hurry. 

Then  the  fire  died  down,  and  it  was  so  quiet 
it  made  you  jump.  I  heard  the  same  man,  who 
had  helped  me  cuss  in  American,  shout  out: 
"  Old  Fritz  has  got  a  bellyful  of  the  hell  he 
started  now."  We  were  so  used  to  shouting  we 
could  not  talk  naturally  for  quite  a  while.  I 
never  did  find  out  who  this  American  was, 
although  I  looked  for  him  and  asked  about  him. 

We  thought  our  parapet  was  busted  up  a  good 
deal,  but  when  we  looked  through  the  periscope, 
we  saw  what  had  happened  to  Fritz's  trenches, 
and,  believe  me,  as  the  negro  said,  they  were 
practically  ruined. 

Out  in  No  Man's  Land,  it  looked  like  Wool- 
worth's  5-and-10;  everywhere  were  gray  uni- 
forms, with  tin  cups  and  accoutrements  that 
belonged  to  the  Germans  before  our  artillery 
and  machine  guns  got  to  them. 

Our  stretcher-bearers  were  busy,  carrying  the 
wounded  back  to  first  aid  dressing  station,  for, 
of  course,  we  had  suffered,  too.  From  there, 
the  blesses  were  shipped  to  the  clearing  station. 

The  dead  lay  in  the  trenches  all  day,  and  at 
night  they  were  carried  out  by  working  parties 
to  "  Stiff  Park,"  as  I  called  it. 


92  Gunner  Depew 

A  man  with  anything  on  his  mind  ought  not 
to  go  to  the  front  line  trenches.  He  will  be 
crazy  inside  of  a  month.  The  best  way  is  not 
to  give  a  tinker 's  dam  whether  it  rains  or  snows : 
there  are  plenty  of  important  things  to  worry 
about. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
ON  EUNNEE  SEEVICE 

One  night  a  man  named  Bartel  and  I  were 
detailed  for  Eunner  service,  and  were  instructed 
to  go  to  Dixnmde  and  deliver  certain  despatches 
to  a  man,  whom  I  will  call  the  Burgomaster,  and 
report  to  the  Branch  Staff  Headquarters  that 
had  been  secretly  located  in  another  part  of 
town.  We  were  to  travel  in  an  automobile 
and  keep  a  sharp  watch  as  we  went,  for  Dix- 
mude  was  being  contested  hotly  at  that  time, 
and  German  patrols  were  in  the  neighborhood. 
No  one  knew  exactly  where  they  would  break 
out  next. 

So,  we  started  out  from  the  third  line 
trenches,  but  very  shortly  one  of  our  outposts 
stopped  us.  Bartel  carried  the  despatches  and 
drove  the  car  too,  so  it  was  up  to  me  to  explain 
things  to  the  sentries.  They  were  convinced 
after  a  bit  of  arguing.  Just  as  we  were  leaving, 
a  message  came  over  the  phone  from  our  com- 
mander, telling  them  to  hold  us  when  we  came. 
It  was  lucky  they  stopped  us,  for  otherwise 
we  would  have  been  out  of  reach  by  the  time 
his  message  came.  The  commander  told  me, 
over  the  telephone,  that  if  a  French  flag  flew 
over  the  town,  the  coast  would  be  clear;  if  a 

93 


94  Gunner  Depew 

Belgian,  that  our  forces  were  either  in  control, 
or  were  about  to  take  over  the  place,  bnt  that 
German  patrols  were  near.  After  this  we 
started  again. 

When  we  had  passed  the  last  post,  we  kept 
a  sharp  lookout  for  the  flag  on  the  pole  of  the 
old  Fish  Market,  for  by  this  we  would  get  our 
bearings  —  and  perhaps,  if  it  should  be  a  Ger- 
man flag,  a  timely  warning.  But  after  we  were 
down  the  road  a  bit  and  had  got  clear,  we  saw 
a  Belgian  flag,  whipping  around  in  a  good  strong 
breeze.  But  while  that  showed  that  our  troops, 
or  the  British,  were  about  to  take  over  the  place, 
it  also  indicated  that  the  Germans  were  some- 
where nearby.  Which  was  not  so  cheerful. 

As  we  went  through  the  suburbs  along  the 
canal,  which  runs  on  the  edge  of  town,  we  found 
that  all  the  houses  were  battered  up.  We  tried 
to  hail  several  heads  that  stuck  themselves  out 
of  the  spaces  between  buildings  and  stuck  them- 
selves back  just  as  quickly,  but  we  could  not  get 
an  answer.  Finally,  we  got  hold  of  a  man  who 
came  out  from  a  little  cafe. 

He  told  us  that  the  Germans  had  been  through 
the  town,  and  had  shot  it  up  considerably,  killing 
and  wounding  a  few  inhabitants,  but  that  shortly 
afterward,  a  small  force  of  Belgian  cavalry  had 
arrived  and  driven  the  boches  out.  The  Ger- 
mans were  expected  either  to  return  or  begin 
a  bombardment  at  any  moment,  and  all  the 
inhabitants  who  sported  cellars  were  hiding  in 
them.  The  rest  were  trying  to  get  out  of  town 
with  their  belongings  as  best  they  could. 


On  Runner  Service  95 

On  reaching  our  objective,  we  made  straight 
for  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  where  we  were  admitted, 
and  after  a  short  wait,  taken  to  the  Burgo- 
master. We  questioned  him  as  to  news,  for 
we  had  been  instructed  to  pick  up  any  informa- 
tion he  might  have  as  to  conditions.  But  we 
did  not  get  much,  for  he  could  not  get  about 
because  of  the  Germans,  who  had  made  it  a 
policy  to  terrorize  the  people  of  the  town. 

We  had  just  got  into  the  car,  and  were  about 
to  start,  when  the  Burgomaster  himself  came 
running  out.  He  ordered  us  to  leave  the  car 
there,  and  said  he  would  direct  us  where  to  go. 
He  insisted  that  we  go  on  foot,  but  I  could  not 
understand  when  he  tried  to  explain  why. 

About  fifty  yards  away,  the  other  side  of  the 
road  was  piled  high  with  rifles,  lances,  bayo- 
nets, and  all  kinds  of  weapons.  But  the  Burgo- 
master would  not  explain  this.  He  certainly 
was  a  pig-headed  boy,  if  there  ever  was  one.  He 
began  puffing  about  this  time,  and  I  thought  he 
was  wishing  he  had  let  us  drive  him  in  the  car. 
Finally,  he  said  he  would  go  back,  and  he 
showed  us  which  way  our  course  lay. 

We  saw  two  soldiers  ahead  of  us  on  the  road, 
and  we  waved  at  them  and  tried  to  make  them 
stop,  but  they  did  not  pay  the  slightest  atten- 
tion. We  sprinted  a  bit  and  caught  up  with 
them,  and  after  a  while,  they  cut  loose  and 
began  to  talk.  One  of  them,  a  lad  of  about 
eighteen,  had  on  a  pair  of  cavalry  boots,  which 
he  had  pulled  off  of  a  German  he  had  killed. 
He  told  us  about  it  several  times,  and  we 


96  Gunner  Depew 

laughed  and  kidded  him  along,  until  he  must 
have  thought  us  the  best  fellows  he  had  ever 
seen.  Actors  are  not  the  only  people  who  like 
applause.  Then  we  left  the  road. 

We  soon  saw  the  probable  reason  for  the 
Burgomaster's  refusal  to  ride  in  the  car.  All 
around,  for  about  a  mile,  the  roads  were  heavily 
mined,  and  small  red  flags  on  iron  staves  were 
stuck  between  the  cobblestones,  as  warnings  not 
to  put  in  much  time  around  those  places.  Also, 
there  were  notices  stuck  up  all  around  warning 
people  of  the  mines,  and  forbidding  heavy  carts 
to  pass.  When  we  got  off  of  the  road,  I  breathed 
again ! 

After  a  great  deal  of  Questioning,  we  finally 
reached  our  destination,  and  made  our  report 
to  the  local  commandant.  We  told  him  all  we 
could,  and  in  turn,  received  various  informa- 
tion from  him.  We  were  then  taken  over  to 
the  hotel.  Here,  we  read  a  few  Paris  news- 
papers, that  were  several  weeks  old,  until  about 
eight,  when  we  had  dinner,  and  a  fine  dinner  it 
was,  too. 

After  we  had  eaten  all  we  could,  and  wished 
for  more  room  in  the  hold,  we  went  out  into 
the  garden  and  yarned  a  while  with  some  gen- 
darmes, and  then  went  to  bed.  We  had  a  big 
room  on  the  third  floor  front.  We  had  just 
turned  in,  and  were  all  set  for  a  good  night's 
rest,  when  there  was  an  explosion  of  a  different 
kind  from  any  I  had  heard  before,  and  we  and 
the  bed  were  rocked  about,  like  a  canoe  in  the 
wake  of  a  stern-wheeler. 


On  Runner  Service  97 

There  were  seven  more  explosions,  and  then 
they  stopped,  though  we  could  hear  the  rattle 
of  a  machine  gun  at  some  distance  away.  Bartel 
said  it  must  be  the  Forts,  and  after  some  argu- 
ment, I  agreed  with  him.  He  said  that  the 
Germans  must  have  tried  an  advance  under  cover 
of  a  bombardment,  and  that  as  soon  as  the  Forts 
got  into  action,  the  Germans  breezed.  We  were 
not  worried  much,  so  we  did  not  get  out  of  bed. 

A  few  minutes  later,  we  heard  footsteps  on 
the  roof,  and  then  a  woman  in  a  window  across 
the  street,  asking  a  gendarme  whether  it  was 
safe  to  go  back  to  bed.  Then  I  got  up  and 
took  a  look  into  the  street.  There  were  a  lot 
of  people  standing  around  talking,  but  it  was 
not  interesting  enough  to  keep  a  tired  man  up, 
so  into  the  hay.  Bartel  was  already  pounding 
his  ear,  but  he  did  not  get  much  of  a  start  on 
me  at  that,  for  I  think  I  must  have  slept  twice 
as  hard  as  he  did  to  catch  up. 

It  seemed  about  the  middle  of  the  night  when 
Bartel  called  me,  but  he  said  it  was  time  to  get 
out  and  get  to  work.  We  found  he  had  made 
a  poor  guess,  for  when  we  were  half  dressed, 
he  looked  at  his  watch  and  it  was  only  a  quarter 
past  seven,  but  we  decided  to  stay  up,  since  we 
were  that  far  along,  and  then  go  down  and 
cruise  for  a  breakfast. 

When  we  got  downstairs  and  found  some  of 
the  hotel  people,  it  took  them  a  long  time  to  get 
it  through  our  heads  that  there  had  been  some 
real  excitement  during  the  night.  The  explo- 


98  Gunner  Depew 

sions  were  those  of  bombs  dropped  by  a  Zeppelin, 
which  had  sailed  over  the  city. 

The  first  bomb  had  fallen  less  than  two  hun- 
dred yards  from  where  we  slept.  No  wonder 
the  bed  rocked!  It  had  struck  a  narrow  three 
story  house  around  the  corner  from  the  hotel, 
and  had  blown  it  to  bits.  Ten  people  had  been 
killed  outright,  and  a  number  died  later.  The 
bomb  tore  a  fine  hole,  and  hurled  pieces  of  itself 
several  hundred  yards.  The  street  itself  was 
filled  with  rocks,  and  a  number  of  houses  were 
down,  and  others  wrecked.  When  we  got  out 
into  the  street  and  talked  with  some  army  men, 
we  found  that  even  they  were  surprised  by  the 
force  of  the  explosion. 

We  learned  that  the  Zepp  had  sailed  not  more 
than  five  hundred  feet  above  the  town.  Its 
motor  had  been  stopped  just  before  the  first 
bomb  was  let  go,  and  it  had  slid  along  perfectly 
silent  and  with  all  lights  out.  The  purr  that 
we  had  thought  was  machine  guns,  after  the 
eighth  explosion,  was  the  starting  of  the  motor, 
as  the  Zepp  got  out  of  range  of  the  guns  that 
were  being  set  for  the  attack. 

The  last  bomb  had  struck  in  a  large  square. 
It  tore  a  hole  in  the  cobblestone  pavement  about 
thirty  feet  square  and  five  feet  deep.  Every 
window  on  the  square  was  smashed.  The  fronts 
of  the  houses  were  riddled  with  various  sized 
holes.  All  the  crockery,  and  china,  and  mirrors 
in  the  houses  were  in  fragments. 

Not  much  more  than  an  hour  before  the  Zepp 


On  Runner  Service  99 

came,  we  had  been  sitting  in  a  room  at  the 
house  of  the  local  military  commandant,  right 
under  a  big  glass-dome  skylight.  This  house  was 
now  a  very  pretty  ruin,  and  it  was  just  as  well 
that  we  left  when  we  did.  You  could  not  even 
find  a  splinter  of  the  big  round  table.  The 
next  time  I  sit  under  a  glass  skylight  in  Dix- 
mude,  I  want  a  lad  with  a  live  eye  for  Zeppelins 
on  guard  outside. 

Something  about  the  Branch  Headquar- 
ters ruins  made  us  think  of  breakfast,  which 
we  had  forgotten,  so  back  to  the  hotel.  Then 
we  started  back  to  our  lines.  We  were  ordered 
to  keep  to  the  main  road  all  the  way  back,  or 
we  would  be  shot  on  sight,  and  to  report  to 
headquarters  immediately  on  our  return.  I 
thought  if  the  sight  of  me  was  so  distasteful  to 
anybody,  I  would  not  take  the  chance  of  offend- 
ing, being  anxious  to  be  polite  in  such  cases. 
So,  we  stuck  to  the  main  road. 

Fritz  did  not  give  us  any  trouble,  and  we  were 
back  by  five,  with  all  hands  out  to  greet  us  when 
we  hove  in  sight,  and  a  regular  prodigal  son 
welcome  on  tap,  for  we  were  later  than  they 
had  expected  us,  and  they  had  made  up  their 
minds  that  some  accident  had  happened. 

While  I  was  around  Dixmude,  I  saw  many 
living  men  and  women  and  children  who  had 
been  mutilated  by  the  Germans,  but  most  of 
them  were  women  and  children.  Almost  every 
one  of  the  mutilated  men  was  too  old  for  mili- 


100  Gunner  Depew 

tary  service.  The  others  had  been  killed,  I 
guess. 

But  the  Belgians  were  not  the  only  ones  who 
had  suffered  from  German  kidtur.  Many  French 
wounded  were  tortured  by  the  Huns,  and  we 
were  constantly  finding  the  mutilated  bodies  of 
our  troops.  It  was  thought  that  the  Germans 
often  mutilated  a  dead  body  as  an  example  to 
the  living. 

The  Germans  had  absolutely  no  respect  what- 
ever for  the  Eed  Cross.  For  instance,  they  cap- 
tured a  wagon  loaded  with  forty  French 
wounded,  and  shot  every  one  of  them.  I  saw 
the  dead  bodies. 

When  the  Germans  came  to  Dixmude,  they 
got  all  the  men  and  women  and  children,  and 
made  them  march  before  them  with  their  hands 
in  the  air.  Those  who  did  not  were  knocked 
down.  After  a  while,  some  of  them  saw  what 
they  were  going  to  get,  and  being  as  game 
sports  as  I  ever  heard  of,  tried  to  fight.  They 
were  finished  off  at  once,  of  course. 

The  former  burgomaster  had  been  shot  and 
finished  off  with  an  axe,  though  he  had  not 
resisted,  because  he  wanted  to  save  the  lives 
of  his  citizens.  They  told  me  of  one  case,  in 
Dixmude,  where  a  man  came  out  of  his  house, 
trying  to  carry  his  father,  a  man  of  eighty,  to 
the  square,  where  they  were  ordered  to  report. 
The  old  man  could  not  raise  his  hands,  so  they 
dragged  his  son  away  from  him,  knocked  the  old 
man  in  the  head  with  an  axe,  and  left  him  there 


On  Runner  Service  101 

x 

to  die.  Those  who  were  spared  were  made  to 
dig  the  graves  for  the  others. 

There  was  a  doctor  there  in  Dixmude,  who 
certainly  deserves  a  military  cross  if  any  man 
ever  did.  He  was  called  from  his  house  by 
the  Germans  at  5:30  one  morning.  He  left  his 
wife,  who  had  had  a  baby  two  days  before,  in 
the  house.  He  was  taken  to  the  square,  lined 
up  against  a  wall  with  three  other  big  men  of 
the  town. 

Then  he  saw  his  wife  and  baby  being  car- 
ried to  the  square  on  a  mattress  by  four  Ger- 
mans. He  begged  to  be  allowed  to  kiss  his 
wife  good-bye,  and  they  granted  him  permission. 
As  he  stepped  away,  there  was  a  rattle  and 
the  other  men  went  West.  They  shot  him,  too, 
but  though  he  was  riddled  with  bullets  he  lived, 
somehow,  and  begged  the  German  officer  to  let 
him  accompany  his  wife  to  the  prison  where 
they  were  taking  her.  This  was  granted  too, 
but  on  the  way,  they  heard  the  sound  of  firing. 
The  soldiers  yelled,  "  Die  Franzosen! '  and 
dropped  the  mattress  and  ran.  But  it  was  only 
some  of  their  own  butchers  at  work. 

Dr.  Laurent  carried  his  wife  and  baby  to 
an  old  aqueduct  that  was  being  rebuilt  by  the 
creek.  There  they  lived  for  three  days  and 
three  nights,  on  the  few  herbs  and  the  water 
that  Dr.  Laurent  sneaked  out  and  got  at  night. 
Dr.  Laurent  says  that  when  the  Germans  killed 
and  crucified  the  civilians  at  Dixmude,  they 
first  robbed  them  of  their  watches,  pocket  books, 
rings  and  other  things.  There  was  a  Madame 


102  Gunner  Depew 

Tilmans  there,  who  had  had  three  thousand 
francs  stolen  from  her  and  was  misused  besides. 
*"  These  were  just  a  very  few  of  the  things  that 
happened  at  just  one  place  where  the  Germans 
got  to  work  with  their  kultur.  So  you  can 
picture  the  Belgians  agreeing  on  a  German  peace, 
while  there  is  a  Belgian  alive  to  argue  about  it. 
They  will  remember  the  Germans  a  long  time, 
I  think.  But  they  need  not  worry:  there  are 
a  lot  of  us  who  will  not  forget,  either. 


CHAPTER  IX 
LAID  UP  FOB  BEPAIES 

One  night,  after  I  had  been  at  Dixmude  for 
about  three  weeks,  we  made  a  charge  in  the 
face  of  a  veiy  heavy  fire.  Our  captain  always 
stood  at  the  parapet  when  we  were  going  over, 
and  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  and  shouted, 
11  For  God  and  France."  Then  we  would  go 
over.  Our  officers  always  led  us,  but  I  have 
never  seen  a  German  officer  lead  a  charge.  They 
always  were  behind  their  men,  driving  instead 
of  leading.  I  do  not  believe  they  are  as  brave 
as  they  are  said  to  be. 

"Well,  we  went  over  this  time,  and  the  machine 
guns  were  certainly  going  it  strong.  We  were 
pretty  sore  about  the  chaplain  and  the  Swiss 
and  all  that,  and  we  put  up  an  awful  fight,  but 
we  could  not  make  it  and  had  to  come  back. 
Only  one  company  reached  the  boche  trenches 
and  not  a  man  of  it  came  back  who  had  not 
been  wounded  on  the  way  and  did  not  reach  the 
trench.  They  were  just  wiped  out. 

The  captain  was  missing,  too.  We  thought 
he  was  done  for,  but  about  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  he  came  back.  He  simply  fell  over 
into  the  trench,  all  in.  He  had  been  wounded 

103 


104  Gunner  Depew 

four  times,  and  had  lain  in  a  shell  crater 
full  of  water  for  several  hours.  He  would  not 
go  back  for  treatment  then,  and  when  daylight 
came,  it  was  too  late,  because  we  were  prac- 
tically cut  off  by  artillery  fire  behind  the  front 
line  trenches. 

When  daylight  came,  the  artillery  fire  opened 
up  right  on  us,  and  the  Germans  had  advanced 
their  lines  into  some  trenches  formerly  held  by 
us  and  hardly  forty-five  yards  away.  We  re- 
ceived bombs  and  shells  right  in  our  faces.  A 
Tunisian  in  our  company  got  crazy,  and  ran 
back  over  the  parados.  He  ran  a  few  yards, 
then  stopped  and  looked  back  at  us.  I  think 
he  was  coming  to  his  senses,  and  would  have 
started  back  to  us.  Then  the  spot  where  he 
had  been  was  empty,  and  a  second  later  his 
body  from  the  chest  down  fell  not  three  yards 
from  the  parados.  I  do  not  know  where  the 
top  part  went.  That  same  shell  cut  a  groove  in 
the  low  hill  top  before  it  exploded.  He  had 
been  hit  by  a  big  shell,  and  absolutely  cut  in 
two.  I  have  seen  this  happen  to  four  men,  but 
this  was  the  only  one  in  France. 

About  seven  o'clock,  we  received  reinforce- 
ments, and  poured  fresh  troops  over  and  re-took 
the  trench.  No  sooner  had  we  entered  it,  how- 
ever, than  the  Germans  turned  their  artillery 
on  us,  not  even  waiting  for  their  own  troops 
to  retire  safely.  They  killed  numbers  of  their 
own  men  in  this  way.  But  the  fire  was  so 
heavy  that,  when  they  counter-attacked,  we  had 
to  retire  again,  and  this  time  they  kept  after 


Laid  Up  for  Repairs  105 

us  and  drove  us  beyond  the  trench  we  had  orig- 
inally occupied. 

We  left  them  there,  with  our  artillery  taking 
care  of  them,  and  our  machine  guns  trying  to 
enfilade  them,  and  moved  to  the  right.  There 
was  a  bunch  of  trees  there,  about  like  a  small 
woods,  and  as  we  passed,  the  Germans  concealed 
in  it  opened  fire  on  us,  and  we  retired  to  some 
reserve  trenches.  We  were  pretty,  much  scat- 
tered by  this  time,  and  badly  cut  up.  We 
reformed  there,  and  were  joined  by  other  of  our 
troops,  in  small  groups  —  what  was  left  of 
squads  and  platoons  and  singly.  Our  captain 
had  got  it  a  fifth  time,  meanwhile,  but  he  would 
not  leave  us,  as  he  was  the  ranking  officer.  He 
had  a  scalp  wound,  but  the  others  were  in  his 
arms  and  shoulders.  He  could  not  move  his 
hands  at  all. 

But  he  led  our  charge  when  we  ran  for  the 
woods.  We  carried  some  machine  guns  with  us 
as  we  went,  and  the  gunners  would  run  a  piece, 
set  up,  fire  while  we  opened  up  for  them,  and 
run  on  again.  Some  troops  came  out  of  a 
trench  still  farther  to  the  right  and  helped  us, 
and  we  drove  the  Germans  out  of  the  woods 
and  occupied  it  ourselves. 

From  there,  we  had  the  Germans  in  our  old 
trench  almost  directly  from  the  rear,  and  we 
simply  cleaned  them  out.  I  think  all  the  vows 
were  kept  that  day,  or  else  the  men  who  made 
them  died  first. 

I  was   shot  through  the  thigh  some  time  or 


106  Gunner  Depew 

other  after  the  captain  got  back.  It  felt  just 
like  a  needle-prick  at  first,  and  then  for  a  while 
my  leg  was  numb.  A  couple  of  hours  after  we 
took  our  trench  back,  I  started  out  for  the  rear 
and  hospital.  The  wound  had  been  hurting  for 
some  time.  They  carried  the  captain  out  on  a 
stretcher  about  the  same  time,  but  he  died  on 
the  way  from  loss  of  blood.  Fresh  troops  came 
up  to  relieve  us,  but  our  men  refused  to  go,  and 
though  officially  they  were  not  there  in  the 
trench,  they  stayed  until  they  took  the  captain 
away.  Then,  back  to  billets  —  not  bullets,  this 
time.  I  believe  that  we  received  an  army  cita- 
tion for  that  piece  of  work,  but  I  do  not  know, 
as  I  was  in  the  hospital  for  a  short  time  after- 
ward. I  do  not  remember  much  about  going 
to  the  hospital  except  that  the  ambulance  made 
an  awful  racket  going  over  the  stone  paved 
streets  of  Etaples,  and  that  the  bearer  who 
picked  up  one  end  of  my  stretcher,  had  eyes  like 
dead  fish  floating  on  water;  also,  that  there 
were  some  civvies  standing  around  the  entrance 
as  we  were  being  carried  in. 

The  first  thing  they  do  in  the  hospital  is  to 
take  off  your  old  dirty  bandages  and  slide  your 
stretcher  under  a  big  electric  magnet.  A  doctor 
comes  in  and  places  his  hand  over  your  wound, 
and  they  let  down  the  magnet  over  his  hand  and 
turn  on  the  juice.  If  the  shell  fragment  or 
bullet  in  you  is  more  than  seven  centimeters 
deep,  you  cannot  feel  the  pain.  The  first  doctor 
reports  to  the  chief  how  deep  your  wound  is, 


Laid  Up  for  Repairs  107 

and  where  it  is  situated,  and  then  a  nurse  comes 
up  to  you,  where  you  lie,  with  your  clothes  still 
on,  and  asks  you  to  take  the  "pressure." 

Then  they  lift  you  on  a  four  wheeled  cart, 
and  roll  you  to  the  operating  theatre.  They 
take  off  your  clothes  there.  I  remember  I  liked 
to  look  at  the  nurses  and  surgeons;  they  looked 
so  good  in  their,  clean  white  clothes. 

Then  they  stick  hollow  needles  into  you,  which 
hurt  a  good  deal,  and  you  take  the  pressure. 
After  a  while,  they  begin  cutting  away  the 
bruised  and  maybe  rotten  flesh,  removing  the 
old  j  cloth,  pieces  of  dirt,  and  so  forth,  and 
scraping  away  the  splinters  of  bone. 

You  think  for  sure  you  are  going  to  bleed 
to  death.  The  blood  rushes  through  you  like 
lightning,  and  if  you  get  a  sight  of  yourself, 
you  can  feel  yourself  turning  pale.  Then  they 
hurry  you  to  your  bed,  and  cover  yon  over  with 
blankets  and  hot-water  bottles.  They  raise  your 
bed  OIL  chairs,  so  the  blood  will  run  up  toward 
your  head,  and  after  a  while,  your  eyes  open 
and  the  doctor  says,  "  Oui,  oui,  il  vivra,"  mean- 
ing that  you  still  had  some  time  to  spend  before 
finally  going  West. 

The  treatment  we  got  in  the  hospital  was 
great.  We  received  cigarettes,  tobacco,  matches, 
magazines,  and  clean  clothes.  The  men  do  not 
talk  about  their  wounds  much,  and  everybody 
tries  to  be  happy  and  show  it.  The  food  was 
fine,  and  there  was  lots  of  it. 

I  do  not  think  there  were  any  doctors  in  the 
world  better  than  ours,  and  they  were  always 


108  Gunner  Depew 

trying  to  make  things  easy  for  us.  They  did 
not  rip  the  dressings  off  your  wounds  like  some 
of  the  butchers  do  in  some  of  our  dispensaries 
that  I  know  of,  but  took  them  off  carefully. 
Everything  was  very  clean  and  sanitary,  and 
some  of  the  hospitals  had  sun  parlors,  which 
were  well  used,  you  can  be  sure. 

Some  of  the  men  made  toys  and  fancy  articles, 
such  as  button  hooks  and  paper  knives.  They 
made  the  handles  from  empty  shell  cases,  or 
shrapnel,  or  pieces  of  Zeppelins,  or  anything 
else  picked  up  along  the  front. 

When  they  are  getting  well,  the  men  learn 
harness-making,  mechanical  drawing,  telegraphy, 
gardening,  poultry  raising,  typewriting,  book- 
keeping, and  the  men  teach  the  nurses  how  to 
make  canes  out  of  shell  cases,  and  rings  of 
aluminum,  and  slippers  and  gloves  out  of 
blankets. 

The  nurses  certainly  work  hard.  They  always 
have  more  to  do  than  they  ought  to,  but  they 
never  complain,  and  are  always  cheerful  and 
ready  to  play  games  when  they  have  the  time, 
or  read  to  some  poilu.  And  their  work  is  pretty 
dirty  too:  I  would  not  like  to  have  to  do  it. 
They  say  there  were  lots  of  French  society 
ladies  working  as  nurses,  but  you  never  heard 
much  about  society,  or  any  talk  about  Lord 
Helpus,  or  Count  Whosis,  or  pink  teas  or  any- 
thing like  that  from  these  nurses.  I  have  heard 
that  society  people  from  another  country,  who 
go  over  to  France,  get  pretty  gay  around  Paris 
• — which  is  as  near  the  front  as  some  of  them 


Laid  Up  for  Repairs  109 

ever  get  —  and  only  wear  a  uniform  if  it  looks 
good  on  them,  and  do  their  first  aid  work  around 
a  cafe  table.  It  is  just  as  well  that  they  do 
not  get  to  the  front  line  hospitals.  God  help  the 
poor  blesses  if  they  ever  get  up  against  that 
bunch. 

A  few  shells  landed  near  our  hospital,  while 
I  was  there,  but  no  patient  was  hit.  They 
knocked  a  shrine  of  Our  Lady  to  splinters, 
though,  and  bowled  over  a  big  crucifix.  The 
kitchen  was  near  by,  and  it  was  just  the  chef's 
luck  that  he  had  walked  over  to  our  ward  to  see 
a  pal  of  his,  when  a  shell  landed  plumb  in  the 
center  of  the  kitchen,  and  all  you  could  see  all 
over  the  barracks  was  stew. 

That  was  a  regular  Eatless  Day  for  us,  until 
they  rigged  up  bogies  and  got  some  more  dixies, 
and  mixed  up  some  cornmeal  for  us.  The  chef 
made  up  for  it  the  next  day,  though.  This  chef 
was  a  great  little  guy.  He  was  a  blesse  himself, 
and  I  guess  his  stomach  sympathized  with  ours, 
for  he  certainly  was  the  "  Carry  On  Kid,"  as 
Butler  called  him,  when  it  came  to  food.  Most 
of  the  cooks  are  all  right,  any  way.  At  the  field 
kitchens,  the  cooks  worry  a  lot  if  the  men  do  not 
get  enough  food.  They  are  always  glad  to  see 
the  boys  again  when  they  are  withdrawn,  and 
the  first  thing  out  of  their  mouths  is,  "  Who 
did  you  lose  this  time?  "  As  a  rule,  they  give 
the  boys  a  specially  fine  meal  before  they  go 
back  to  the  front  line  trenches,  for,  as  the  cook 
says,  you  do  not  know  how  many  will  ever  get 
it  again. 


110  Gunner  Depew 

This  Bill  Butler  I  have  mentioned  was  a  great 
card.  He  was  from  Oklahoma,  I  think,  and  he 
must  have  been  six  foot  four  in  his  stocking 
feet.  He  was  always  getting  up  some  kind  of 
joke,  or  writing  funny  pieces.  He  thought  more 
Americans  ought  to  get  into  the  scrap,  so  he 
wrote  up  a  humorous  advertisement,  which  he 
said  he  would  have  printed  on  posters,  and 
stuck  up  on  every  bill  board  in  the  United 
States.  He  said  it  with  a  straight  face,  and 
the  Frenchmen  thought  he  meant  it,  until  another 
fellow  and  I  translated  it  to  them. 

After  a  while,  Butler  got  so  he  could  walk 
around,  and  he  used  to  make  regular  trips  to 
different  wards.  The  men  got  to  know  him  well, 
and  they  were  always  glad  to  see  him.  He 
would  not  be  in  a  ward  a  minute  before  he  had 
them  all  going. 

He  would  come  down  the  aisle  between  the 
cots,  imitating  the  man  who  drives  ahead  of  a 
circus  in  a  buggy,  in  the  small  towns. 

"  Yore  bosses!  Yore  hosses!  Watch  yore 
bosses  —  the  elephants  are  now  coming  over  the 
bridge!  ''• 

The  Frenchmen  did  not  know  what  it  was 
about  at  all,  but  he  said  it  in  such  a  deep  voice, 
and  stuck  out  his  chest,  and  "  geed  >;>  up  his 
horses,  and  pulled  them  up,  and  drove  on  again, 
and  all  this  in  such  a  funny  way,  that  he  had 
them  laughing  all  the  time. 

One  of  the  nurses  went  to  Paris  on  leave  for 
three  days,  and  Bill  got  her  to  buy  him  a  silk 
hat.  When  she  came  back  with  it,  he  always 


Laid  Up  for  Repairs  111 

wore  it  when  he  walked  around  the  wards,  and 
he  could  do  all  kinds  of  tricks  with  it.  When 
he  left,  they  hung  his  hat  on  the  wall  and  wrote 
his  name  under  it. 

When  Butler  could  get  a  bunch  of  blesses 
together,  he  would  sometimes  act  a  whole  play 
by  himself.  He  got  some  cards  and  lettered 
them,  "  Villain,"  "  Hero,"  "  Heroine,"  "  Giles 
the  Faithful  Servant,"  "  Hobbs,  a  Villager," 
and  so  forth.  When  he  had  finished  being  Giles 
the  Faithful  Servant,  he  would  take  off  that 
sign  and  put  on  Hero,  or  whatever  came  next, 
and  on  with  the  play.  He  surely  was  a  card. 

There  was  a  Frenchman  in  the  bed  next  to 
me  who  had  the  whole  side  of  his  face  torn  off. 
He  told  me  he  had  been  next  to  a  bomber,  who 
had  just  lit  a  fuse  and  did  not  think  it  was 
burning  fast  enough,  so  he  blew  on  it.  It  burned 
fast  enough  after  that,  and  there  he  was.  He 
was  the  only  blesse  who  di&  not  seem  to  care 
for  Butler's  comedy:  it  hurt  him  to  laugh. 

There  was  a  Belgian  in  one  of  the  other  wards, 
whom  I  got  to  know  pretty  well,  and  he  would 
often  come  over  and  visit  me.  He  asked  many 
questions  about  Dixmude,  for  he  had  had  rela- 
tives there,  though  he  had  lost  track  of  them. 
He  often  tried  to  describe  the  house  they  had 
lived  in,  so  that  I  might  tell  him  whether  it 
was  still  standing  or  not,  but  I  could  not  remem- 
ber the  place  he  spoke  of.  During  our  talks, 
he  told  me  about  many  atrocities.  Some  of  the 
things  he  told  me  I  had  heard  before,  and  some 
of  them  I  heard  of  afterwards.  Here  are  some 


112  Gunner  Depew 

things  that  he  either  saw  or  heard  of  from 
victims. 

He  said  that  when  the  Germans  entered  the 
town  of  St.  Quentin,  they  started  firing  into  the 
windows  as  they  passed  along.  First,  after 
they  had  occupied  the  town,  they  bayonetted 
every  workingman  they  could  find.  Then  they 
took  about  .half  of  the  children  that  they  could 
find,  and  killed  them  with  their  musket  butts. 
After  this,  they  marched  the  remainder  of  the 
children  and  the  women  to  the  square,  where 
they  had  lined  up  a  row  of  male  citizens  against 
a  wall.  The  women  and  children  were  told  that 
if  they  moved,  they  would  all  be  shot.  Another 
file  of  men  was  brought  up,  and  made  to  kneel 
in  front  of  the  other  men  against  the  wall. 

The  women  and  children  began  to  beg  for  the 
lives  of  the  men,  and  many  of  them  were  knocked 
in  the  head  with  gun  butts  before  they  stopped. 

Then  the  Germans  fired  at  the  double  rank  of 
men.  After  three  volleys,  there  were  eighty- 
four  dead  and  twenty  wounded.  Most  of  the 
wounded  they  then  killed  with  axes,  but  some- 
how, three  or  four  escaped  by  hiding  under  the 
bodies  of  others  and  playing  dead,  though  the 
officers  walked  up  and  down  firing  their  revolvers 
into  the  piles  of  bodies. 

The  next  day  the  Germans  went  through  the 
wine  cellars,  and  shot  all  the  inhabitants  they 
found  hiding  there.  A  lot  of  people,  who  had 
taken  refuge  in  a  factory  over  night,  decided  to 
come  out  with  a  white  flag.  They  were  allowed 
to  think  that  the  white  flag  would  be  respected, 


Laid  Up  for  Repairs  113 

but  no  sooner  were  they  all  out  than  they  were 
seized  and  the  women  publicly  violated  in  the 
square,  after  which  the  men  were  shot.  A  para- 
lytic was  shot  as  he  sat  in  his  arm-chair,  and  a 
boy  of  fourteen  was  taken  by  the  legs  and 
pulled  apart. 

At  one  place,  a  man  was  tied  by  the  arms  to 
the  ceiling  of  his  room  and  set  afire.  His  trunk 
was  completely  carbonized,  but  his  head  and 
arms  were  unburned.  At  the  same  place,  the 
body  of  a  fifteen  year  old  boy  was  found, 
pierced  by  more  than  twenty  bayonet  thrusts. 
Other  dead  were  found  with  their  hands  still 
in  the  air,  leaning  up  against  walls. 

At  another  place  the  Germans  shelled  the  town 
for  a  day,  and  then  entered  and  sacked  it.  The 
women  and  children  were  turned  loose,  with- 
out being  allowed  to  take  anything  with  them, 
and  forced  to  leave  the  town.  Nearly  five  hun- 
dred men  were  deported  to  Germany.  Three, 
who  were  almost  exhausted  by  hunger,  tried  to 
escape.  They  were  bayonetted  and  clubbed  to 
death.  Twelve  men,  who  had  taken  refuge  in  a 
farm,  were  tied  together  and  shot  in  a  mass. 
Another  group  of  six  were  tied  together  and 
shot,  after  the  Germans  had  put  out  their  eyes 
and  tortured  them  with  bayonets.  Three  others 
were  brought  before  their  wives  and  children 
and  sabered. 

The  Belgian  told  me  he  was  at  Namur  when 
the  Germans  began  shelling  it.  The  bombard- 
ment lasted  the  whole  of  August  21  and  22,  1914. 


114  Gunner  Depew 

They  centered  their  fire  on  the  prison,  the  hos- 
pital, and  the  railway  station.  They  entered  the 
town  at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  August 
23.  During  the  first  twenty-four  hours,  they 
behaved  themselves,  but  on  the  24th  they  began 
firing  at  any  one  they  pleased,  and  set  fire  to 
different  houses  on  five  of  the  principal  squares. 

Then  they  ordered  everyone  to  leave  his  house, 
and  those  who  did  not  were  shot.  The  others, 
about  four  hundred  in  all,  were  drawn  up  in 
front  of  the  church,  close  to  the  river  bank. 
The  Belgian  said  he  could  never  forget  how  they 
all  looked. 

"  I  can  remember  just  how  it  was,"  he  said. 
"  There  were  eight  men,  whom  I  knew  very 
well,  standing  in  a  row  with  several  priests. 
Next  came  two  good  friends  of  mine  named 
Balbau  and  Guillaume,  with  Balbau's  seventeen 
year  old  son;  then  two  men  who  had  taken 
refuge  in  a  barn  and  had  been  discovered  and 
blinded;  then  two  other  men  whom  I  had  never 
seen  before. 

11  It  was  awful  to  see  the  way  the  women  were 
crying  — '  Shoot  me  too,  shoot  me  with  my 
husband. ' 

"  The  men  were  lined  up  on  the  edge  of  the 
hollow,  which  runs  from  the  high  road  to  the 
bottom  of  the  village.  One  of  them  was  leaning 
on  the  shoulders  of  an  old  priest,  and  he  was^ 
crying,  *I  am  too  young  —  I  can't  face  death 
bravely. r 

"  I  couldn't  bear  the  sight  any  longer.  I 
turned  my  back  to  the  road  and  covered  my  eyes. 


Laid  Up  for  Repairs  115 

I  heard  the  volley  and  the  bodies  falling.  Then 
someone  cried,  '  Look,  they're  all  down.'  But  a 
few  escaped." 

This  Belgian  had  escaped  by  hiding  —  he  could 
not  remember  how  many  days  —  in  an  old  cart 
filled  with  manure  and  rubbish.  He  had  chewed 
old  hides  for  food,  had  swum  across  the  river, 
and  hid  in  a  mud  bank  for  almost  a  week  longer, 
and  finally  got  to  France. 

He  took  it  very  hard  when  we  talked  about 
Dixmude,  and  I  told  him  that  the  old  church 
was  just  shot  to  pieces.  He  asked  about  a  paint- 
ing called  the  Adoration  of  the  Magi,  and  one 
of  the  other  prisoners  told  us  it  had  been  saved 
and  transported  to  Germany.  If  that  is  true, 
and  they  do  not  destroy  it  meanwhile,  we  will 
get  it  back,  don't  worry! 

My  wound  was  just  a  clean  gunshot  wound 
and  not  very  serious,  so,  although  it  was  not 
completely  healed,  they  let  me  go  after  three 
weeks.  But  before  I  went,  I  saw  something  that 
no  man  of  us  will  ever  forget.  Some  of  them 
took  vows  just  like  the  men  of  the  Legion  I  have 
told  about. 

One  of  the  patients  was  a  German  doctor,  who 
had  been  picked  up  in  No  Man's  Land,  very 
seriously  wounded.  He  was  given  the  same 
treatment  as  any  of  us,  that  is,  the  very  best, 
but  finally,  the  doctors  gave  him  up.  They 
thought  he  would  die  slowly,  and  that  it  might 
take  several  weeks. 

But  there  was  a  nurse  there,  who  took  special 
interest  in  his  case,  and  she  stayed  up  day  and 


116  Gunner  Depew 

night  for  some  time  and  finally  brought  hid 
through.  The  case  was  very  well  known,  and 
everybody  said  she  had  performed  a  miracle. 
He  got  better  slowly. 

Then  a  few  weeks  later,  when  he  was  out  of 
danger  and  was  able  to  walk,  and  it  was  only  a 
question  of  time  before  he  would  be  released 
from  the  hospital,  this  nurse  was  transferred 
to  another  hospital.  Everybody  knew  her  and 
liked  her,  and  when  she  went  around  to  say  good- 
bye, all  the  men  were  sorry  and  gave  her  little 
presents,  and  wanted  her  to  write  to  them.  She 
was  going  to  get  a  nurse  she  knew  in  the  other 
hospital  to  turn  her  letters  into  English,  so  that 
she  could  write  to  me.  I  gave  her  a  ring  I 
had  made  from  a  piece  of  shell  case,  but  I 
guess  she  had  hundreds  of  them  at  that. 

But  this  German  doctor  would  not  say  good- 
bye to  her.  That  would  not  have  made  me  sore, 
but  it  made  this  French  girl  feel  very  bad,  and 
she  began  to  cry.  One  of  the  French  officers 
saw  her  and  found  out  about  the  doctor,  and 
the  officer  went  up  and  spoke  to  the  German. 
Then  the  French  officer  left,  and  the  German 
called  to  the  nurse  and  she  went  over  to  him 
and  stopped  crying. 

They  talked  for  a  little  while,  and  then  she 
put  out  her  hands  as  if  she  was  going  to  leave. 
He  put  out  his  hands,  too,  and  took  hold  of  hers. 
And  then  he  twisted  her  wrists  and  broke  them. 
We  heard  the  snap. 

There  were  men  in  that  ward  who  had  not 
been  on  foot  since  the  day  they  came  to  the 


Laid  Up  for  Repairs  117 

hospital,  and  one  of  them  was  supposed  to  be 
dying,  but  it  is  an  absolute  fact  that  when  we 
heard  her  scream,  there  was  not  a  man  left  in 
bed. 

I  need  not  tell  you  what  we  did  to  the  German. 
They  did  not  need  to  shoot  him,  after  we  got 
through  with  him.  They  did  shoot  what  was 
left  of  him,  to  make  sure,  though. 

Now,  I  have  heard  people  say  that  it  is  not 
the  Germans  we  are  fighting,  but  the  Kaiser  and 
his  system.  Well,  it  may  be  true  that  some  of 
the  boche  soldiers  would  not  do  these  things  if 
they  did  not  have  to:  myself,  I  am  not  so  sure. 

But  you  take  this  doctor.  Here  he  was,  an 
educated  man,  who  had  been  trained  all  his  life 
to  help  people  who  were  in  pain,  and  not  to 
cause  it.  And  he  was  not  where  he  would  have 
to  obey  the  Kaiser  or  any  other  German.  And 
this  nurse  had  saved  his  life. 

So  I  do  not  see  that  there  is  any  argument 
about  it.  He  broke  that  girl's  wrists  because 
he  wanted  to;  that  is  all  there  is  to  it.  Now,  I 
say  this  German  doctor  was  a  dirty  cur  and  a 
scoundrel.  But  I  say  that  he  is  a  fair  sample 
of  most  of  the  Germans  I  have  met.  And  it  is 
Germans  of  this  kind  that  we  are  fighting  —  not 
merely  the  Kaiser. 

It  is  like  going  to  college.  I  have  never  been 
there,  but  I  have  heard  some  people  say  it  did 
not  do  a  man  any  good  to  go.  But  I  have  never 
heard  a  man  who  went  there  say  that.  Probably 
you  have  not  been  over  there,  and  maybe  you 


118  Gunner  Depew 

think  we  are  not  fighting  the  German  people,  but 
only  the  Kaiser  and  his  flunkeys. 

Well,  nobody  had  better  tell  me  that.  Because 
I  have  been  there,  and  I  have  seen  this.  And 
I  know. 


CHAPTER  X 
HELL  AT  GALLIPOLI 

After  I  was  discharged  from  the  hospital,  I 
was  ordered  to  report  to  my  ship  at  Brest  for 
sea  duty. 

The  boys  aboard  the  Cassard  gave  me  a  hearty 
welcome,  especially  Murray,  who  had  come  back 
after  two  weeks  in  the  trenches  at  Dixmude. 
I  was  glad  to  see  them,  too,  for  after  all,  they 
were  garbies,  and  I  always  feel  more  at  home 
with  them  than  with  soldiers.  Then,  it  was 
pretty  rough  stuff  at  Dixmude,  and  after  resting 
up  at  the  hospital,  I  was  keen  on  going  to  sea 
again. 

The  Cassard  was  in  dry  dock  for  repairs 
after  her  last  voyage  to  the  Dardanelles  as  con- 
voy to  the  troop-ship  Dupleix.  Everything  was 
being  rushed  to  get  her  out  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  crews  were  working  day  and  night.  There 
were  other  ships  there  too  —  superdreadnaughts, 
and  dreadnaughts,  and  battleships,  and  armored 
cruisers,  all  being  overhauled. 

We  received  and  placed  guns  of  newer  design, 
filled  the  magazines  with  the  highest  explosives 
known  to  naval  use,  and  generally  made  ready 
for  a  hard  job.  Our  magazines  were  filled  with 
shells  for  our  big  12  and  14-inch  guns.  A  14-inch 

119 


120  Gunner  Depew 

shell  can  tear  a  hole  through  the  heaviest  armor 
plate  at  12,000  yards,  and  will  do  more  damage 
than  you  would  think. 

When  we  had  coaled  and  had  got  our  stores 
aboard,  we  dressed  for  action  —  or  rather, 
undressed.  The  decks  were  clear ;  hatch  covers 
bolted  and  davits  folded  down;  furniture,  chests, 
tables,  chairs  were  sent  ashore,  and  inflammable 
gear,  like  our  rope  hammocks,  went  overboard. 
You  could  not  find  a  single  wooden  chair  or  table 
in  the  ward  room. 

When  a  ship  is  cleared  for  action,  a  shell 
bursting  inside  cannot  find  much  to  set  afire, 
and  if  one  bursts  on  deck,  there  is  nothing  to 
burn  but  the  wooden  deck,  and  that  is  covered 
with  steel  plate. 

Finally,  we  had  roll  call  —  all  men  present. 
Then  we  set  sail  for  the  Dardanelles  as  escort 
to  the  Dupleix,  which  had  on  board  territorial 
and  provincial  French  troops  —  Gascons,  Paris- 
ians, Normans,  Indo-Chinese,  Spahis,  Turcos  — 
all  kinds.  When  we  messed,  we  had  to  squat 
down  on  the  steel  mess  deck  and  eat  from  metal 
plates. 

There  had  been  a  notice  posted  before  we  left 
that  the  Zeppelins  had  begun  sea  raids,  and  we 
kept  a  live  eye  out  for  them.  This  news  proved 
to  be  a  fake,  though,  and  we  did  not  see  a  single 
cigar  while  we  were  out. 

We  made  the  trip  to  the  Dardanelles  without 
sighting  an  enemy  craft,  keeping  in  close  touch 
with  the  Dupleix,  and  busy  every  minute  prepar- 
ing for  action. 


GALLIPOLIaruMhe 

DARDANELLES 


Hell  at  Gallipoli  123 

I  was  made  gun  captain  and  given  charge  of 
the  starboard  bow  turret,  mounting  two  14-inch 
guns.  I  had  my  men  at  gun  practice  daily,  and 
by  the  time  we  neared  the  Dardanelles,  after 
five  days,  they  were  in  pretty  fair  shape. 

It  was  about  five  a.  m.  when  we  drew  near 
Cape  Helles  and  took  stations  for  action.  The 
Dupleix  was  in  front  of  us.  The  batteries  on 
the  Cape  opened  up  on  us,  and  a  few  minutes 
later,  those  at  Kum  Kaleh  joined  in. 

As  the  Dupleix  made  for  "  V  "  Beach  and 
prepared  to  land  her  troops,  we  swung  broadside 
on,  raking  their  batteries  as  we  did  so,  and 
received  a  shell,  which  entered  through  a  gun 
port  in  the  after  turret  and  exploded.  Some 
bags  of  powder  stored  there  (where  they  should 
never  have  been)  were  fired,  and  the  roof  of 
the  turret  was  just  lifted  off.  It  landed  on 
deck,  tilted  up  against  the  side  of  the  turret. 

On  deck,  the  rain  of  fire  was  simply  terrific. 
Steel  flew  in  all  directions.  It  was  smash,  crash, 
slam-bang  all  the  time,  and  I  do  not  mind  saying 
I  never  thought  we  would  come  out  of  it. 

Some  of  the  heavy  armor  plate  up  forward 
was  shot  away,  and  after  that  the  old  Cassard 
looked  more  like  a  monitor  than  anything  else 
to  me.  As  we  drew  nearer  the  shore,  they  began 
using  shrapnel  on  us,  and  in  no  time  at  all  our 
funnels  were  shot  full  of  holes,  and  a  sieve  was 
watertight  compared  to  them. 

Naturally,  we  were  not  just  taking  all  this 
punishment  without  any  comeback.  Our  guns 
were  at  it  fast,  and  from  the  way  the  fire  slack- 


124  Gunner  Depew 

ened  in  certain  places,  we  knew  we  were  making 
it  effective.  My  guns  did  for  two  enemy  pieces 
that  I  know  of,  and  perhaps  several  others. 

The  French  garbies  were  a  good  deal  more 
excited  in  action  than  I  thought  they  would  be. 
They  were  dodging  around  below  decks,  trying 
to  miss  the  shrapnel  that  came  aboard,  shouting, 
swearing,  singing  —  but  fighting  hard,  at  that. 
They  stood  the  gaff  just  as  well  as  any  other 
garbies  would,  only  in  their  own  sweet  way  — 
which  is  noisy  enough,  believe  me. 

One  of  our  seamen  was  hit  one  hundred  and 
thirty  times  by  fragments  of  shrapnel,  so  you 
can  see  what  they  were  up  against  in  the  dodging 
line.  A  gun  turret  in  action  is  not  exactly  the 
best  place  on  earth  for  a  nervous  man,  nor  one 
who  likes  his  comfort.  There  is  an  awful  lot 
of  heat,  and  noise,  and  smell,  and  work,  all  the 
time  in  a  fighting  gun  turret.  But  during  an 
engagement,  I  would  rather  be  in  a  gun  turret 
every  time  than  between  decks.  At  that,  if  any- 
thing does  happen  in  a  turret  —  it  is  good  night 
sure  for  all,  and  no  rain  checks  needed. 

One  of  our  junior  lieutenants  was  struck  by 
a  fragment  of  shell  as  he  was  at  his  station 
behind  the  wheelhouse,  and  a  piece  of  his  skull 
was  driven  into  his  brain.  He  was  carried  into 
my  gun  turret,  but  he  would  not  let  them  take 
him  to  sick  bay  to  have  his  wound  dressed. 
There  he  sat,  asking  every  now  and  then  how 
the  fight  was  going,  and  then  sort  of  dozing 
off  for  a  while. 

After  about  half  an  hour  of  action,  we  put 


Hell  at  Gallipoli  125 

about  and  started  away,  still  firing.  As  a  part- 
ing slap  on  the  back,  the  Turks  tore  off  one 
of  our  big  gun  turrets,  and  then  away  we  went, 
back  to  Brest  with  a  casualty  list  of  only  fifteen. 
We  did  not  have  much  trouble  guessing  that  it 
was  dry  dock  for  us  again. 

We  got  back  to  Brest  after  a  quiet  voyage, 
patching  ourselves  up  where  we  could  on  the 
way,  and  again  there  was  the  rush  work,  day 
and  night,  to  get  into  shape  and  do  it  over  again. 
They  turned  us  out  in  twelve  days,  and  back  we 
went  to  the  Turks  and  their  Hun  assistants. 

We  were  lucky  getting  inshore,  only  receiving 
a  nasty  smash  astern,  when  the  Turks  got  our 
range  and  landed  two  peaches  before  we  got  out. 
We  nearly  tore  our  rudder  off  getting  away. 
But  we  had  to  come  back  right  away,  because 
we  had  carried  quxte  a  number  of  heavy  guns 
from  Brest  and  were  given  the  job  of  running 
them  ashore.  It  was  day  and  night  work,  and 
a  great  job  for  fun,  because,  while  you  never 
knew  when  you  would  get  it,  you  had  good  reason 
to  feel  you  would  get  lammed  by  a  cute  little 
shell  or  a  dainty  bit  of  shrapnel  before  the  job 
was  over. 

Aboard  ship  it  was  deck  work,  of  course,  and 
it  was  not  much  better  there  than  ashore  with 
the  guns,  because  the  enemy  trenches  were  near 
the  shore  and  they  amused  themselves  trying 
to  pick  us  off  whenever  we  showed  on  deck.  I 
guess  we  were  a  regular  shooting  gallery  for 
them,  and  some  of  our  men  thought  they  did 


126  Grunner  Depew 

not  need  all  the  practice  they  were  getting,  for 
quite  a  few  of  us  acted  as  bulls'  eyes. 

But  we  did  not  mind  the  bullets  so  much. 
They  make  a  clean  wound  or  put  you  away 
entirely:  shrapnel  tears  you  up  and  can  play 
all  kinds  of  tricks  with  various  parts  of  your 
body  without  killing  you.  As  for  shells  —  well, 
mincemeat  is  the  word. 

The  Narrows  were  thick  with  mines,  and  there 
had  been  a  great  deal  of  damage  done  there,  so 
after  a  while,  the  British  detailed  their  Yar- 
mouth trawlers  to  go  in  and  sweep  up.  They 
had  to  go  up  unprotected,  of  course,  and  they 
started  off  one  night  all  serene. 

Everything  went  well  until  they  turned  at  the 
Narrows  and  started  back.  Then,  before  you 
could  tell  it,  five  or  six  searchlights  were  playing 
on  one  of  the  trawlers,  and  shells  were  splashing 
the  water  all  over  her.  Both  banks  were  simply 
banging  away  point  blank  at  them,  and  I  never 
thought  they  would  get  back. 

They  did  get  back,  though,  but  some  of  them 
had  hardly  enough  men  left  to  work  ship.  But 
that  is  like  the  Limeys.  They  will  get  back  from 
anywhere  while  there  is  one  man  alive. 

A  chap  aboard  one  of  the  trawlers  said  a 
shell  went  through  the  wheelhouse  between  the 
quartermaster  and  himself,  and  all  the  Q.  M. 
said  was,  "  Gaw  blimey,  that  tickled." 

"  But  .1  know  their  shooting  was  very  bad," 
said  the  other  chap  to  me.  "  Those  Turks 
must  have  thought  the  flue  was  behind  them." 


HeU  at  Gallipoli  127 

Coming  back  from  the  Dardanelles,  a  gold- 
stripe  sent  for  me  and  asked  me  whether  I 
thought  there  were  other  ex-navy  gunners  in 
the  States  that  would  serve  with  the  French. 
I  told  him  the  country  was  full  of  good  gunners, 
and  he  wanted  me  to  write  to  all  I  knew  and  get 
them  to  come  over.  He  did  not  mean  by  this, 
and  neither  do  I,  that  there  were  not  good  gun- 
ners in  the  French  Navy,  because  there  were  — 
lots  of  them.  But  you  can  never  have  too  many 
handy  boys  with  the  guns,  and  he  was  very 
anxious  for  me  to  get  all  I  could.  I  had  no 
way  of  reaching  the  ex-garbies  I  did  know,  so  I 
had  to  pass  up  this  opportunity  to  recruit  by 
mail. 

While  we  were  in  Brest,  I  got  permission  to 
go  aboard  a  submarine,  and  a  petty  officer 
showed  me  around.  This  was  the  first  time  I  was 
in  the  interior  of  a  sub,  and  I  told  the  officer 
that  I  would  like  to  take  a  spin  in  the  tub 
myself.  He  introduced  me  to  the  commander, 
but  the  petty  officer  said  he  did  not  think  they 
would  let  me  stay  aboard.  I  showed  the  com- 
mander my  passport,  and  talked  to  him  for  a 
while,  and  he  said  he  would  take  me  on  their 
practice  cruise  two  days  later  if  the  Old  Man 
gave  me  written  permission. 

So  I  hot-footed  it  back  to  the  Cassard,  and 
while  I  did  not  promise  that  I  would  get  any 
American  gunners  for  him,  in  exchange  for  the 
written  permission,  he  was  free  to  think  that  if 
he  wanted  to.  It  seems  as  though  he  did  take 


128  Gunner  Depew 

it  that  way,  for  lie  gave  me  a  note  to  the  sub 
commander  and  sent  him  another  note  by  mes- 
senger. I  wanted  Murray  to  go  too,  but  the  Old 
Man  said  one  was  enough. 

So,  two  days  later,  I  went  aboard  in  the  morn- 
ing and  had  breakfast  with  the  sub  crew,  and 
a  good  breakfast  it  was,  too.  After  breakfast 
they  took  stations,  and  the  commander  went  up 
on  the  structure  amidships,  which  was  just  under 
the  conning  tower,  and  I  squatted  down  on  the 
deck  beneath  the  structure. 

Then  the  gas  engines  started  up  and  made 
an  awful  racket  and  shook  the  old  tub  from  stem 
to  stern.  I  could  tell  that  we  had  cut  loose 
from  the  dock  and  were  moving.  After  a  while, 
they  shut  off  the  gas  engines  and  started  the 
motors,  and  we  began  to  submerge.  When  we 
were  all  the  way  under,  I  looked  through  the 
periscope  and  saw  a  Dutch  merchantman.  We 
stayed  under  about  half  an  hour,  and  then  came 
back  on  the  surface.  One  of  the  garbies  was 
telling  me,  later  on,  that  this  same  sub  had  gone 
out  of  control  a  few  weeks  before  and  kept 
diving  and  diving  until  she  struck  bottom.  I 
do  not  know  how  many  fathoms  down  it  was, 
but  it  was  farther  than  any  commander  would 
take  a  sub  if  he  could  help  it.  This  garby  said 
they  could  hear  the  plates  cracking,  and  it  was 
a  wonder  that  they  did  not  crumple  up  from 
the  pressure,  but  she  weathered  it,  pressure  but- 
ton and  all,  and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  was 
on  the  surface.  While  on  the  surface  they 
sighted  smoke,  submerged  again,  and  soon,  over 


Gunner  Dcpew  in  Frencli  sailor  uniform 


Hell  at  Gallipoli  129 

the  horizon  came  eight  battleships,  escorted  by 
Zepps  and  destroyers. 

They  tested  their  tubes  before  they  got  in 
range.  Finally  they  let  go.  The  first  shot 
missed,  but  after  that,  they  got  into  it  good,  and 
the  garby  said  all  you  could  hear  was  the  knock- 
ing of  the  detonated  gun  cotton. 

About  five  minutes  later,  they  sighted  five 
destroyers,  two  on  each  bow,  and  one  dead  ahead. 
The  sub  steered  in  at  right  angle  zig-zags,  and 
the  destroyers  stayed  with  their  convoy.  The 
sub  launched  two  torpedoes  at  less  than  a  mile 
before  diving,  to  get  away  from  the  destroyers, 
and  the  garby  said  at  least  one  of  them  was  hit. 
These  ships  must  have  been  some  of  the  lucky 
ones  that  came  down  from  the  North  Sea.  The 
garby  said  he  thought  they  were  off  the  Dutch 
coast  at  the  time,  but  he  was  not  sure. 

But  this  cruise  that  I  was  on  was  only  a 
practice  cruise,  and  we  did  not  meet  with  any 
excitement  in  the  short  time  that  we  were  out. 


CHAPTER  XI 
ACTION  AT  THE  DARDANELLES 

While  we  were  in  Brest,  after  the  second  trip 
to  the  Dardanelles,  the  A.  &  H.  liner  Kansan, 
out  of  Baltimore  —  since  torpedoed  —  and  the 
British  tramp  Wellbeckhcdl  were  lying  in  the 
harbor.  There  were  many  Americans  in  the 
crews  of  each  vessel,  and  I  went  to  the  com- 
mandant of  the  port  and  asked  him  if  we  could 
have  a  baseball  game  on  the  drill  grounds. 

He  had  heard  about  baseball  —  just  heard 
about  it  —  and  he  had  the  same  idea  of  it  as 
a  sport  that  the  average  Frenchman  gets.  He 
said  he  would  be  glad  to  oblige,  but  did  not  I 
think  it  was  too  dangerous  a  sport  for  him  to 
give  his  official  sanction  to?  The  men  used 
masks  and  pads  and  large  clubs,  he  understood, 
and  threw  hard  balls  at  one  another. 

I  told  him  that  baseball  was  such  a  gentle 
sport  that  the  old  folks'  homes  in  the  States  all 
had  teams,  and  that  they  even  played  it  indoors, 
and  that  most  people  thought  that  baseball  was 
the  reason  Americans  were  so  gentle  and  lamb- 
like. He  said  he  had  not  heard  we  were  quite 
as  harmless  as  I  made  us  out  to  be.  But  he 
came  orer  when  I  asked  him  whether  he  did  not 

130 


Action  at  the  Dardanelles  131 

think  fencing  was  more  dangerous  than  baseball, 
and  explained  the  game  to  him  somewhat. 

So  we  laid  out  a  diamond  on  the  parade 
grounds,  with  rocks  for  the  bases,  and  a  ship's 
skillet  for  the  home  plate.  Then  the  French  got 
into  it  and  arranged  a  programme  of  races,  and 
a  fencing  match  between  one  of  their  men  and 
a  German  prisoner.  The  crew  of  the  Kansan 
practiced  early  one  morning,  and  had  pickets  out 
so  that  no  one  could  see  them  at  work,  but  the 
Wellbeckhall  men  only  played  catch  on  deck. 

We  had  a  fine  day  for  the  game,  and  a  mixed 
crowd  out  —  French,  civvies,  soldiers,  garbles, 
prisoners,  the  crews  of  the  two  ships,  and  Lord 
knows  what.  They  wanted  me  to  umpire,  but 
I  was  too  modest!  So  Dow,  the  first  mate  of 
the  Kansan,  was  made  umpire.  He  was  manager 
of  his  team,  too,  but  the  Wellbeckhall  men  were 
good  sports  and  let  it  go  at  that. 

It  was  an  awful  game.  I  do  not  think  that 
anybody  knew  what  the  score  was,  or  how  many 
innings  they  played,  but  after  a  time,  almost 
everybody  admitted  that  the  Kansan  team  had 
won. 

Then  they  had  the  fencing,  which  excited  the 
Frenchmen  very  much,  and  I  must  say  they 
are  good  sports,  because  the  German  put  it  all 
over  their  man,  and  they  did  not  protest  at  all, 
but  applauded  the  German  and  gave  him  ciga- 
rettes enough  to  stock  a  store. 

After  that  came  the  big  event.  One  of  the 
Kansan  's  crew  was  Shorty  Mitchell,  from  Fair- 
field,  Maine  —  the  same  man  who  shipped  on  the 


132  Gunner  Depew 

Virginian  with  us  —  and  he  was  said  to  have 
been  lightweight  champion  of  the  state  at  one 
time.  The  Wellbeckhall  champ  was  a  lad  named 
Mike  Sweeney.  I  do  not  know  where  he  came 
from,  but  he  was  a  good  man  with  Ms  fists. 
And  the  big  event  was  a  fight  between  these 
two.  Dow  got  it  up  and  refereed  the  bout. 

All  during  the  scrap,  there  was  a  six-foot 
Kanaka  or  Hawaiian  from  the  Kansan,  who  kept 
shouting  things  at  Dow  and  getting  closer  all 
the  time  to  tlje  ring.  Now,  this  Dow  was  a  little 
fellow,  and  he  had  a  tough  bunch  to  handle. 
But  he  was  game,  if  ever  there  was  a  game  man. 
He  always  carried  a  rawhide  whip  with  him, 
and  when  this  Kanaka  jumped  into  the  ring  and 
swore  at  him,  Dow  let  him  have  the  whip  right 
across  the  face.  Some  more  men  got  into  the 
ring  about  this  time,  and  there  was  a  riot  for  a 
while,  with  Dow  cutting  and  slashing  right  and 
left.  Finally,  he  got  the  ring  cleared,  but 
Mitchell  and  Sweeney  were  not  in  sight.  I  guess 
they  had  had  enough. 

So  the  Kanaka  climbed  back  into  the  ring, 
and  challenged  anybody  there  to  a  fight  to  the 
finish,  bare  fists  or  gloves.  He  certainly  was  a 
burly  boy,  if  there  ever  was  one.  Nobody  took 
him  up,  and  he  kept  laughing  at  the  audience, 
and  calling  them  yellow,  and  swearing  at  them 
generally.  I  am  not  saying  I  offered  to  fight 
him,  but  somebody  would  have  had  to  —  maybe 
it  might  have  been  me  —  if  Dow  had  not  thrown 
down  his  whip  and  put  on  the  gloves.  The 
Kanaka  was  so  glad  to  get  a  crack  at  Dow,  he 


Action  at  the  Dardanelles  133 

could  hardly  wait  to  have  the  gloves  laced  on 
him. 

Then  they  went  to  it,  and  I  wish  you  could 
have  seen  the  beating  that  black  boy  took.  Dow 
just  pasted  him  all  over  the  place.  He  would 
get  inside  the  Kanaka's  guard  and  put  away  a 
few  body  blows,  and  then  out  again,  leaving 
a  few  on  the  jaw  for  souvenirs  as  he  went. 

It  looked  funny,  though,  for  Dow  and  the 
Kanaka  stacked  up  like  Mutt  and  Jeff  for  size. 
The  black  boy  was  bleeding  like  a  stuck  pig  at 
the  mouth  and  nose,  but  he  would  not  yell 
enough,  and  Dow  finally  rocked  Tiim  to  sleep 
with  a  pile  driver  on  the  chin.  I  never  saw  a 
prettier  fight,  because  the  black  boy  was  no 
slouch  with  his  fists  himself.  But  this  Dow 
was  certainly  a  great  little  scrapper  and  a  fine 
sport. 

Also,  while  we  were  in  dry  dock  at  Brest,  I 
went  aboard  the  France  IV,  one  of  the  eight 
hospital  ships  that  went  back  and  forth  between 
Saloniki  and  Tunis.  The  ship  was  fitted  up  to 
carry  about  nine  hundred  patients,  and  I  never 
saw  a  better  equipped  hospital  anywhere  — 
X-ray  apparatus  and  glass  tubes  and  bulbs 
everywhere. 

The  saloon  deck  and  the  dining  saloon  were 
filled  with  white  beds,  and  the  lower  decks  were 
fitted  up  with  berths.  The  staterooms  —  all 
white  —  were  filled  with  surgical  dressings,  sup- 
plies and  clothing  of  various  kinds. 

There  is  a  priest  aboard  each  of  the  hospital 


134  Gunner  Depew 

ships,  and  a  picked  staff  of  doctors  and  nurses. 
When  patients  arrive  on  board  ship,  their  knap- 
sacks are  taken  from  them  and  stored  on  deck, 
so  that  there  will  not  be  any  danger  of  infection 
below  in  the  wards.  Then  a  little  card  is  pinned 
on  each  man's  bed  coat,  telling  where  he  is 
wounded  or  what  disease  he  has.  Those  who 
can  walk,  even  on  crutches,  are  allowed  on  deck 
as  much  as  they  please  in  fair  weather,  and 
they  gather  around  on  the  forecastle  deck  or 
amidships,  out  of  the  wind,  and  compare  wounds 
and  talk  symptoms  just  like  any  other  bunch 
of  sanatorium  patients.  Each  man  has  his  own 
water  bottle  and  drinking  cup. 

Of  course,  some  of  them  die  at  sea,  and  these 
are  rolled  up  in  a  tarpaulin,  sewed,  weighted  — 
then,  over  the  side,  after  the  priest  has  read 
the  service.  I  guess  it  is  good  for  the  patients 
who  can  walk  to  be  out  in  the  air  on  deck,  but 
I  wondered  what  the  lads  on  crutches  would  do 
in  a  heavy  sea.  It  must  take  some  hobbling 
to  keep  up. 

I  made  twelve  trips  to  the  Dardanelles  in  all, 
the  Cassard  acting  generally  as  convoy  to  troop 
ships,  but  one  trip  was  much  like  another,  and 
I  cannot  remember  all  the  details,  so  I  will  give 
only  certain  incidents  of  the  voyages  that  you 
might  find  interesting.  We  never  put  into  the 
Dardanelles  without  being  under  fire  —  but 
besides  saying  so,  what  is  there  to  write  about 
in  that?  It  was  interesting  enough  at  the  time, 
though,  you  can  take  it  from  me! 


Action  at  the  Dardanelles  135 

Coming  up  to  "  V  "  Beach,  on  our  third  trip 
to  the  Dardanelles,  the  weather  was  as  nasty  as 
any  I  have  ever  seen.  The  rain  was  sweeping 
along  in  sheets  —  great  big  drops,  and  driven  by 
the  wind  in  regular  volleys.  You  could  see  the 
wind  coming,  by  the  line  of  white  against  a 
swell  where  the  drops  hit. 

As  we  rounded  the  point,  the  seas  got  chop- 
pier, and  there  were  cross  currents  bucking  the 
ship  from  every  angle,  it  seemed.  You  could 
not  see  two  hundred  yards  away,  the  rain  was 
so  thick,  and  the  combers  were  breaking  over 
our  bows  three  a  minute.  The  coast  here  is 
pretty  dangerous,  so  we  went  in  very  slowly, 
and  had  the  sounding  line  going  until  its 
whir-r-r-r  sounded  louder  than  a  machine  gun 
in  action. 

I  was  on  the  starboard  bow  at  the  time,  and 
had  turned  to  watch  some  garbles  poking  at  the 
scuppers  to  drain  the  water  off  the  deck.  But 
the  scuppers  had  been  plugged,  and  they  were 
having  a  hard  time  of  it.  The  officer  on  the 
bridge,  in  oilskins,  was  walking  up  and  down, 
wiping  off  the  business  end  of  his  telescope,  and 
trying  to  dodge  the  rain.  All  of  the  garbies 
but  one  left  the  scuppers  on  the  starboard  side, 
and  started  across  decks  to  port.  The  other  chap 
kept  on  fooling  around  the  scuppers.  Then  I 
saw  a  big  wave  coming  for  us,  just  off  the  star- 
board bow,  and  I  grabbed  hold  of  a  stanchion 
and  took  a  deep  breath  and  held  on.  When  my 
head  showed  above  water  again,  the  other  end 
of  the  wave  was  just  passing  over  the  place 


136  Gunner  Depew 

where  the  garbles  had  been,  and  the  officer  was 
shouting:  "  Un  homme  a  la  mer!  '  He  shouted 
before  the  man  really  was  overboard,  because 
he  saw  that  the  wave  would  get  him. 

I  rushed  to  the  port  bow  and  looked  back,  for 
the  wave  had  carried  him  clear  across  the 
decks,  and  saw  the  poor  lad  in  the  water,  trying 
to  fend  himself  off  from  the  ship's  side.  But 
it  was  no  go,  and  the  port  propeller  blades  just 
carved  him  into  bits. 

On  our  homeward  voyage,  we  received  word 
again,  by  wireless,  that  there  were  Zeppelins 
at  sea.  We  did  not  believe  this,  and  it  proved 
to  be  untrue.  But  there  were  other  stories  and 
taller  ones,  told  us  by  one  of  the  wireless  oper- 
ators that  some  of  the  garbies  believed.  This 
chap  was  the  real  original  Baron  Munchausen 
when  it  came  to  yarning,  and  for  a  while  he 
had  me  going,  too.  He  would  whisper  some 
startling  tale  to  us,  and  make  us  promise  not 
to  tell,  as  he  had  picked  it  from  some  other 
ship's  message,  and  the  Old  Man  would  spread- 
eagle  him  if  he  found  it  out.  They  probably 
would  have  logged  him,  at  that,  if  they  had 
known  he  was  filling  us  full  of  wind  the  way  he 
did. 

He  told  me  one  time  that  Henry  Ford  had 
invented  something  or  other  for  locating  subs 
miles  away,  and  also  another  device  that  would 
draw  the  sub  right  up  to  it  and  swallow  it  whole. 
He  had  a  lot  of  other  yarns  that  I  cannot  remem- 
ber, but  I  did  not  believe  him  because  I  saw 
he  was  picking  out  certain  men  to  tell  certain 


Action  at  the  Dardanelles  137 

yarns  to  —  that  is,  spinning  them  where  they 
would  be  more  sure  of  being  believed,  and  not 
just  spinning  them  anywhere. 

So  I  got  pretty  tired  of  his  stuff  after  a  while, 
and  when  we  put  out  from  Brest,  on  the  fourth 
voyage,  I  got  this  fellow  on  deck  in  rough 
weather,  and  began  talking  to  him  about  the 
chap  who  had  gone  overboard  the  time  before, 
and  had  been  cut  up  by  the  propeller.  I  pre- 
tended that,  of  course,  he  knew  all  about  it  — 
that  the  Old  Man  had  had  this  garby  pushed 
overboard  because  he  was  too  free  with  his 
mouth.  But  this  did  not  seem  to  do  any  good, 
so  I  had  to  think  up  another  way. 

When  we  were  out  two  days,  I  got  hold  of  our 
prize  liar  again.  I  figured  that  he  would  be 
superstitious,  and  I  was  right.  I  said  that,  of 
course,  he  knew  that  a  ship  could  not  draw  near 
Cape  Helles  and  get  away  again  unless  at  least 
one  man  was  lost,  or  that,  if  it  did  get  away, 
there  would  be  many  casualties  aboard.  I  said 
it  had  always  been  that  way,  and  claimed  that 
the  Old  Man  had  pushed  the  garby  overboard 
because  some  one  had  to  go.  I  said  on  our  other 
trips  no  one  had  been  sacrificed,  and  that  was 
the  reason  we  had  suffered  so  much,  and  that 
the  Old  Man  had  been  called  down  by  the  French 
Minister  of  the  Navy.  I  told  him  the  Old  Man 
would  pick  on  whatever  garby  he  thought  he 
could  best  spare. 

That  was  all  I  had  to  tell  him.  Either  he 
thought  the  Old  Man  knew  of  his  yarning,  or  else 
he  did  not  think  himself  of  much  account,  for 


138  Gunner  Depew 

he  -disappeared  that  very  watch,  and  we  did  not 
see  him  again  until  we  were  on  the  homeward 
voyage,  and  a  steward  happened  to  dig  into  a 
provision  hold.  There  was  our  lying  friend, 
with  a  life  belt  on,  another  under  his  head,  and 
the  bight  of  a  rope  around  his  waist,  fast  asleep. 
Why  he  had  the  rope,  I  do  not  know,  but  he  was 
scared  to  death,  and  thought  we  were  going  to 
chuck  him  overboard  at  once.  I  think  he  must 
have  told  the  officers  everything,  because  I 
noticed  them  looking  pretty  hard  at  me  —  or  at 
least  I  thought  I  did;  maybe  it  was  my  con- 
science, if  I  may  brag  about  having  one  —  and  I 
thought  one  of  our  lieutenants  was  just  about 
to  grin  at  me  several  times,  but  we  never  heard 
any  more  about  it,  or  any  more  yarns  from  our 
wireless  friend. 

The  fourth  voyage  was  pretty  rough,  too.  The 
old  girl  would  stick  her  nose  into  the  seas,  and 
many  times  I  thought  she  would  forget  to  come 
out.  We  had  a  lot  of  sand  piled  up  against  the 
wheeT  rouse,  and  after  we  dived  pretty  deep  one 
time,  and  bucked  out,  slowly,  there  was  not  a 
grain  of  sand  left.  It  looked  like  the  sea  was 
just  kidding  us,  for  we  were  almost  into  quiet 
water,  and  here  it  had  just  taken  one  sea  aboard 
to  clean  up  the  sand  we  had  carried  all  the  way 
from  Brest. 

During  the  whole  voyage  you  could  not  get 
near  the  galley,  which  was  where  our  wireless 
friend  hung  out  when  he  could.  The  pans  and 
dixies  hanging  on  the  wall  stood  straight  out 
when  the  ship  pitched,  and  several  heavy  ones 


Action  at  the  Dardanelles  139 

came  down  on  a  cook's  head  while  he  was  sitting 
under  them,  during  a  very  heavy  sea.  That 
made  him  superstitious,  too,  and  he  disappeared 
and  was  not  found  for  two  days.  But  he  was 
a  landsman,  and  not  used  to  heavy  weather. 

When  we  got  to  the  Gallipoli  Peninsula  the 
fifth  time,  our  battle  fleet  and  transports  lay 
off  the  Straits.  We  could  not  reach  the  little 
harbor  on  the  Turkish  coast,  but  the  whole  fleet 
felt  happy  and  fairly  confident  of  victory.  We 
lay  off  Cape  Helles,  and  it  was  there  we  received 
the  news  that  there  were  submarines  lying 
around  Gibraltar.  Then  they  were  reported  off 
Malta.  We  got  the  news  from  British  trawlers 
and  transports.  Our  officers  said  the  subs  could 
not  reach  the  Dardanelles  without  putting  in 
somewhere  for  a  fresh  supply  of  fuel,  and  that 
the  Allied  fleets  were  on  the  lookout  at  every 
place  where  the  subs  might  try  to  put  in.  But 
they  got  there  just  the  same. 

Then  the  British  superdreadnaught  Queen 
Elizabeth,  "  The  Terror  of  the  Turks,"  came  in. 
She  left  England  with  a  whole  fleet  of  cruisers 
and  destroyers,  and  all  the  Limeys  said:  "  She'll 
get  through.  Nothing  will  stop  her." 

One  of  the  boys  aboard  her  told  me  he  had 
no  idea  the  Dardanelles  would  be  as  hot  a  place 
as  he  found  it  was.  "  Gaw  blimey,"  he  said, 
11  what  with  dodging  shells  and  submarines,  you 
cawn't  'elp  but  run  onto  a  bloomin'  mine.  Hi 
don't  mind  tellin'  you,"  he  said,  "  that  Hi  was 
scared  cold,  at  first.  And  then  Hi  thinks  of 
what  'Oly  Joe  (the  chaplain)  told  us  one  service. 


140  Gunner  Depew 

'  Hin  times  of  dynger,  look  hupwards,*  'e  says. 
So  Hi  looks  hupwards,  and  blimey,  hif  there 
wasn't  a  bally  plane  a  droppin'  bombs  hon  us. 
'  What  price  hupward  looks,  'Oly  Joe?  '  I  sings 
out,  but  he  weren't  nowheres  near.  Blarst  me, 
there  weren't  nowhere  you  could  look  without 
doin'  yer  bloody  heye  a  dirty  trick." 

When  the  Queen  Elisabeth  entered  the  Darda- 
nelles, the  Turkish  batteries  on  both  shores 
opened  right  on  her.  They  had  ideal  positions, 
and  they  were  banging  away  in  great  style.  And 
the  water  was  simply  thick  with  mines,  and  for 
all  anybody  knew,  with  subs. 

Yet  the  old  Lizzie  just  sailed  right  along, 
with  her  band  up  on  the  main  deck  playing, 
"Everybody's  Doing  It."  It  made  you  feel 
shivery  along  the  spine,  and  believe  me,  they  got 
a  great  hand  from  the  whole  fleet. 

They  say  her  Old  Man  told  the  boys  he  was 
going  to  drive  right  ahead,  and  that  if  the  ship 
was  sunk,  he  would  know  that  the  enemy  was 
somewhere  in  the  vicinity.  Well,  they  were 
headed  right,  but  they  never  got  past  the  Nar- 
rows. They  stuck  until  the  last  minute,  though, 
and  those  who  went  up,  went  up  with  the  right 
spirit.  "  Are  we  downhearted?  "  they  would  yell. 
"  No!  "  And  they  were  not,  either.  They  did 
not  brag  when  they  put  it  over  on  the  Turks, 
and  they  did  not  grouch  when  they  saw  that 
their  Red  Caps  had  made  mistakes.  Their  motto 
was,  "  Try  Again,"  and  they  tried  day  after 
day.  I  do  not  know  much  about  the  history  of 
armies,  but  I  do  not  believe  there  ever  was  an 


Action  at  the  Dardanelles  141 

army  like  that  of  the  Allies  in  the  Gallipoli 
Campaign,  and  I  do  not  think  any  other  army 
could  have  done  what  they  did.  I  take  off  my 
hat  to  the  British  Army  and  Navy  after  that. 

It  was  hotter  than  I  have  ever  known  it  to 
be  elsewhere,  and  there  was  no  water  for  the 
boys  ashore  but  what  the  navy  brought  to  them 
• —  sometimes  a  pint  a  day,  and  often  none  at  all. 
The  Turks  had  positions  that  you  could  not 
expect  any  army  to  take;  were  well  supplied 
with  ammunition,  and  were  used  to  the  country 
and  the  climate.  Most  of  the  British  Army  were 
green  troops.  It  was  the  Anzacs '  first  campaign. 

They  were  wonderful  boys,  those  Australians 
and  New  Zealanders.  Great  big  men,  all  of  them, 
and  finely  built,  and  they  fought  like  devils.  It 
was  hand  to  hand  work  half  the  time;  hardly 
any  sleep,  no  water,  sometimes  no  food.  They 
made  a  mark  there  at  Gallipoli  that  the  world 
will  have  to  go  some  to  beat. 

Our  boys  were  on  the  job,  too.  We  held  our 
part  of  the  works  until  the  time  came  for 
everybody  to  quit,  and  it  was  no  picnic.  The 
French  should  be  very  proud  of  the  work  their 
navy  did  there  in  the  Dardanelles. 

On  our  sixth  trip,  I  saw  H.  M.  S.  Goliath  get 
it.  She  was  struck  three  times  by  torpedoes  and 
then  shelled.  The  men  were  floundering  around 
in  the  water,  with  shrapnel  cutting  the  waves 
all  around  them.  Only  a  hundred  odd  of  her 
crew  were  saved. 

One  day,  off  Cape  Helles,  during  our  seventh 
trick  at  the  Dardanelles,  we  sighted  a  sub  peri- 


142  Gunner  Depew 

scope  just  about  dinner  time.  The  Prince  George 
and  a  destroyer  sighted  the  sub  at  the  same 
time,  and  the  Prince  George  let  go  two  rounds 
before  the  periscope  disappeared,  but  did  not 
hit  the  mark.  Transports,  battleships  and 
cruisers  were  thick  around  there,  all  at  anchor, 
and  it  was  a  great  place  for  a  sub  to  be. 

In  no  time  at  all,  the  destroyers  breezed  out 
with  their  tails  in  the  air,  throwing  a  smoke 
screen  around  the  larger  ships.  They  hunted 
high  and  low,  all  over  the  spot  where  she  had 
been  sighted  and  all  around  it,  thinking  to  ram 
it  or  bring  it  to  the  surface,  so  we  could  take 
a  crack  at  it.  All  the  rest  of  the  fleet  —  battle- 
ships and  transports  —  weighed  anchor  at  once 
and  steamed  ahead  at  full  speed. 

It  was  a  great  sight.  Any  new  ship  coming 
up  would  have  thought  the  British  and  French 
navies  had  gone  crazy.  We  did  not  have  any 
fixed  course,  but  were  steaming  as  fast  as  we 
could  in  circles  and  half  circles,  and  dashing 
madly  from  port  to  starboard.  We  were  not 
going  to  allow  that  sub  to  get  a  straight  shot  at 
us,  but  we  almost  rammed  ourselves  doing  it. 
It  was  a  case  of  chase-tail  for  every  ship  in  the 
fleet. 

But  the  sub  did  not  show  itself  again  that 
day,  and  we  anchored  again.  That  night,  while 
the  destroyers  were  around  the  ships,  we  slipped 
our  cables  and  patrolled  the  coast  along  the 
Australian  position  at  Gaba  Tepe,  but  we  did 
not  anchor. 

The  following  day  the  Albion  went  ashore  in 


Action  at  the  Dardanelles  143 

the  fog,  south  of  Gaba  Tepe,  and  as  soon  as 
the  fog  lifted,  the  Turks  let  loose  and  gave  it 
to  her  hot.  A  Turkish  ship  came  up,  and  with 
any  kind  of  gunnery,  could  have  raked  her  fore 
and  aft,  but  the  Turks  must  have  been  pretty 
shy  of  gun  sense,  for  they  only  got  in  one  hit 
before  they  were  driven  off  by  H.  M.  S.  Canopus, 
which  has  made  such  a  fine  record  in  this  war. 

Then  the  Canopus  pulled  in  close  to  the  Albion, 
got  a  wire  hawser  aboard,  and  attempted  to  tow 
her  out  under  a  heavy  fire,  but  as  soon  as 'she 
started  pulling,  the  cable  snapped.  The  crew  of 
the  Albion  were  ordered  aft,  and  jumped  up  on 
the  quarter  deck  to  try  and  shift  the  bow  off 
the  bank.  At  the  same  time,  the  fore  turret  and 
the  fore  6-inch  guns  opened  up  a  hot  fire  on  the 
Turkish  positions,  to  lighten  the  ship  and  shift 
her  by  the  concussions  of  the  guns.  For  a  long 
time  they  could  not  budge  her.  Then  the  Cano- 
pus got  another  hawser  aboard,  and  with  guns 
going  and  the  crew  jumping  and  the  Canopus 
pulling,  the  old  Albion  finally  slid  off,  and  both 
ships  backed  into  deep  water  with  little  harm 
done  to  either.  Then  they  returned  to  their 
old  anchorages. 

At  Cape  Helles,  every  one  was  wide  awake. 
We  were  all  on  the  lookout  for  subs,  and  you 
could  not  find  one  man  napping.  Anything  at 
all  passed  for  a  periscope  —  tins,  barrels,  spars. 
Dead  horses  generally  float  in  the  water  with  one 
foot  sticking  up,  and  we  gave  the  alarm  many 
a  tune  when  it  was  only  some  old  nag  on  his 
way  to  Davy's  Locker. 


144  Gunner  Depew 

On  the  Cqssard,  the  Old  Man  posted  a  reward 
of  fifty  francs  for  the  first  man  who  sighted  a 
periscope.  This  was  a  good  idea,  but,  believe 
me,  he  would  have  had  trouble  making  the  award, 
for  every  man  on  the  ship  would  be  sure  to  see 
it  at  the  same  time.  We  were  all  on  deck  all 
the  time.  Each  man  felt  sure  he  would  be  the 
man  to  get  the  reward.  The  14-pounders  were 
loaded  and  ready  for  action  on  a  second's  notice. 
But  the  reward  was  never  claimed. 

During  our  eighth  trick  off  Cape  Helles,  I  was 
amidships  in  the  galley  when  I  heard  our  two 
14-pounders  go  off  almost  at  the  same  time. 
Everybody  ran  for  his  station.  Going  up  the 
main  deck  to  my  turret,  a  man  told  me  it  was 
a  sub  on  the  port  bow,  but  I  only  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  little  whirlpool  where  her  peri- 
scope submerged.  I  do  not  know  why  she  did 
not  let  loose  a  torpedo  at  us.  The  officers  said 
she  was  trying  to  make  the  entrance  to  the 
Dardanelles,  and  came  up  blind  among  the  ships 
and  was  scared  off  by  our  guns,  but  I  thought 
we  had  just  escaped  by  the  skin  of  our  teeth. 
Later  on,  our  destroyers  claimed  to  have  sighted 
her  off  Gaba  Tepe. 

It  was  probably  the  same  sub  that  launched  a 
torpedo  at  H.  M.  S.  Vengeance,  but  missed  her. 
The  Vengeance  was  cruising  at  the  time. 

At  noon,  we  were  at  mess  when  one  of  the 
boys  yelled,  "  She's  hit,"  and  we  all  rushed  on 
deck.  There  was  the  British  ship  Triumph, 
torpedoed  and  listing  away  over  to  starboard. 
She  was  ready  to  turn  over  in  a  few  minutes. 


Action  at  the  Dardanelles  145 

One  battleship  is  not  supposed  to  go  to  the 
assistance  of  another  one  that  has  been  tor- 
pedoed, because  the  chances  are  the  sub  is  still 
in  the  neighborhood,  laying  for  the  second  ship 
with  another  torpedo.  But  one  of  the  British 
trawlers  went  to  the  assistance  of  the  Triumph 
to  pick  up  the  crew. 

We  could  see  the  crew  jumping  into  the  water. 
Then  we  breezed  out  toward  the  horizon  full 
speed  ahead.  All  about  the  Triumph  was  a  cloud 
of  black  smoke,  but  when  we  looked  through  the 
glasses,  we  could  see  she  was  going  down.  Then 
our  guns  began  to  bombard  the  Turkish  posi- 
tions, and  I  had  to  get  busy.  When  I  saw  the 
Triumph  again,  she  was  bottom  up.  She  must 
have  floated  upside  down  for  almost  half  an 
hour;  then  she  went  down  as  though  there  were 
somebody  on  the  bottom  pulling  her. 

When  she  went,  our  Old  Man  banged  his  tele- 
scope on  the  bridge-rail,  and  swore  at  the  Huns 
and  Turks  and  broke  his  telescope  lens  to  bits. 
About  fifty  from  the  Triumph  were  lost. 

It  was  decided  that  the  place  was  too  hot  for 
us  with  that  sub  running  loose,  and  when  they 
reported,  that  afternoon,  that  she  was  making 
her  way  south  from  Gaba  Tepe  to  Cape  Helles, 
all  of  the  fleet  but  the  Majestic  got  under  way, 
and  the  Majestic  was  the  only  ship  left  off  the 
Cape. 

They  said  the  Majestic  was  then  the  oldest  of 
the  ships  in  that  campaign,  but  she  was  the 
pride  of  the  British  fleet  just  the  same.  She 
was  torpedoed  off  Cape  Helles  later  on,  when 


146  Gunner  Depew 

there  were  a  number  of  men-of-war  off  the  Cape. 
The  sea  was  crowded  with  men,  swimming  and 
drowning.  I  saw  a  life  boat  crowded  with  men, 
and  other  men  in  the  water  hanging  onto  her, 
and  there  were  so  many  hanging  on  that  they 
started  to  pull  her  under.  Of  their  own  accord, 
the  men  in  the  water  let  go,  to  save  those  in  the 
boat.  Most  of  them  drowned. 

The  Majestic  listed  so  that  the  men  could  not 
stand  on  deck,  and  the  sides  were  covered  with 
men  hanging  on  to  ropes,  and  not  knowing 
whether  to  jump  into  the  sea  or  not.  We  low- 
ered all  our  life  boats  and  steam  launches,  and 
so  did  the  other  ships.  We  picked  up  a  number 
of  the  crew  and  were  pretty  close  to  the  Majes- 
tic when  she  went  down  like  a  rock.  As  she 
went  down  she  turned  over  and  a  garby  ran 
along  her  side  to  the  ram  at  her  bow  and  got 
on  it  without  even  being  wet.  A  boat  picked 
him  up  off  the  ram,  which  stuck  out  of  the  water 
after  the  ship  had  ceased  to  settle. 

She  had  torpedo  nets  on  her  sides,  and  many 
of  the  crew  were  unable  to  get  clear  of  the  nets, 
and  went  down  with  her.  Quite  a  lot  were 
caught  below  decks,  and  had  no  possible  chance 
to  escape.  There  was  a  big  explosion  as  she 
went  under  —  probably  the  boilers  bursting. 
Thousands  of  troops  on  shore  and  thousands  of 
sailors  on  the  ships  saw  the  final  plunge,  and  it 
was  a  sight  to  remember.  When  the  ship  started 
to  go,  the  Old  Man  rushed  back  to  his  cabin, 
got  the  signal  book  and  destroyed  it.  Also,  he 
saved  the  lives  of  two  of  his  men. 


Action  at  the  Dardanelles  147 

We  gave  dry  clothes,  and  brandy  and  coffee 
to  the  Limeys  we  rescued,  and  though  they  had 
just  come  through  something  pretty  tough,  they 
were  very  calm  and  cool,  and  started  talking 
right  away  about  what  ships  they  would  prob- 
ably be  assigned  to  next. 


CHAPTER  XII 
A  PAL  CRUCIFIED 

"When  we  got  to  "  V  "  Beach  on  the  twelfth 
trip,  the  weather  was  fine,  but  it  did  not  please 
us  much,  for  as  soon  as  we  got  in  range,  the 
enemy  batteries  opened  up  on  us,  and  the  shell 
fire  was  heavier  than  any  we  had  been  in  before, 
though  not  more  effective.  We  drew  in  on  a 
bright  morning  about  half  past  five  or  six,  with 
our  convoy,  the  troop-ship  Champagne  ahead  of 
us,  and  going  slowly,  sounding  all  the  way. 

At  this  part  of  the  shore,  there  is  a  dock 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  long,  running  back  into 
the  country  and  terminating  in  a  road.  The 
Champagne  was  making  for  this  dock,  sounding 
as  she  went.  Suddenly,  when  she  was  within 
five  hundred  yards  of  the  shore,  I  saw  her  swing 
around  and  steer  in  a  crazy  fashion.  "We  began 
asking  each  other  what  the  devil  was  the  matter 
with  her,  but  we  learned  afterwards  that  her 
rudder  had  been  torn  off,  though  we  never  found 
out  how,  nor  do  I  think  anyone  ever  knew. 

Then  she  went  aground,  with  her  stern  toward 
the  shore,  and  listed  over  to  port.  You  could 
see  different  articles  rolling  out  and  down  the 
side.  Then  her  back  broke.  The  quarter  deck 

148 


A  Pal  Crucified  149 

was  crowded  with  men  half  dressed,  with  life 
belts  on,  jumping  over  the  side  or  climbing 
down.  There  was  an  explosion  and  a  cloud  of 
black  smoke  broke  over  us,  and  for  a  while  I 
thought  I  was  blinded. 

All  the  time,  the  shells  were  raining  in  on  us 
and  on  the  Champagne.  When  I  could  see  again, 
I  saw  the  men  on  the  Champagne  climbing  down 
the  starboard,  or  shore  side.  One  chap  was 
going  down,  hand  over  hand,  along  a  stanchion, 
when  another  fellow  above  him  let  go  and  slid 
right  down  on  him.  The  first  man  fell  about 
thirty  feet,  landing  in  the  water  with  his  neck 
doubled  under  him.  Our  life  boats  and  launches 
were  out  picking  up  survivors. 

Those  who  got  safely  over  the  side  started 
to  swim  ashore,  but  when  they  had  gone  only 
a  little  way,  they  found  they  could  wade  in. 
When  the  water  was  only  up  to  their  waists, 
they  came  upon  barbed  wire  entanglements,  and 
not  a  man  got  ashore  that  way  but  was  scratched 
and  clawed  and  mangled  horribly.  Some  of 
them  that  I  saw  afterwards  were  just  shredded 
along  the  sides  of  their  bodies  like  cocoanuts. 
A  great  many  of  them,  though,  were  killed  by 
shrapnel  while  they  were  in  the  water. 

On  board  the  Cassard,  our  guns  had  been 
busy  all  the  time,  and  it  was  not  long  before 
we  put  one  enemy  battery  out  of  commission. 
We  had  suffered  a  bit,  too,  but  not  enough  to 
worry  us.  There  were  about  3,000  men  on  the 
Champagne,  I  think,  and  at  least  a  third  were 
killed  or  drowned,  and  the  total  casualties  must 


150  Gunner  Depew 

have  been  almost  two-thirds.  The  ship  was  just 
a  mass  of  wreckage. 

They  called  for  a  landing  party  from  the 
Cassard,  and  officers  asked  for  volunteers  for 
trench  duty.  I  was  not  very  keen  about  going, 
because  I  had  been  in  trenches  at  Dixmude,  and 
I  knew  how  pleasant  they  were  —  not,  but  I  vol- 
unteered, and  so  did  Murray.  We  went  ashore 
in  our  boats  under  a  heavy  fire.  There  were 
twelve  men  killed  in  the  life  boat  in  which  I  was. 
I  escaped  without  a  scratch. 

We  were  mustered  up  on  shore,  and  volun- 
teers were  called  for,  for  sentry  duty.  Murray 
volunteered.  If  he  had  only  gone  on  with  the 
rest  of  us,  he  might  have  come  through.  After 
a  short  wait,  we  were  given  the  order  to  advance. 
The  firing  became  heavier  about  this  time,  so  we 
went  at  the  double.  We  had  not  got  very  far 
before  we  had  a  fine  little  surprise  party  handed 
us. 

The  front  line  was  running  over  what  appeared 
to  be  good  solid  ground,  when  they  broke 
through  and  fell  into  trenches  thirty  to  forty 
feet  deep.  These  trenches  had  been  dug,  covered 
over  with  ^4-inch  boards  and  then  with  dirt,  and 
were  regular  man-traps.  Sharp  stakes  were 
sticking  out  of  the  parapet  and  parados,  and 
at  the  bottom  were  more  stakes  and  rocks  and 
barbed  wire. 

We  were  advancing  with  bayonets  fixed  and 
arms  at  the  cany,  so,  when  the  first  line  fell, 
and  some  of  the  second,  the  boys  of  the  third 
line  came  running  up,  and  in  the  scramble  that 


Y-Beach 


X-Beacft 


15 


538 


Ac/?/  Baba 
ffitt 


B  Where  the  GOLIATH  was  wrecked. 
#  Where  the  MAJESTIC  was  wrecfced. 
©  Where  the  CAS  SA"Rp  engaged  the 
WERFT  ar>d  the  KAISER LICHE  MARINE. 


A  Pal  Crucified  153 

followed,  many  of  the  chaps  in  the  first  few  lines 
were  bayonetted  by  their  comrades.  I  was  in 
the  third  line,  but  I  was  lucky  enough  to  pull 
up  in  time  and  did  not  fall  in.  You  could  not 
look  down  into  that  trench  after  you  had  seen 
it  once;  it  was  too  sickening.  Our  casualties 
were  sent  back  to  the  ship.  One  boat  was 
sunk  by  a  shell  and  all  the  men  lost. 

We  remained  where  we  were,  scratching  out 
shallow  trenches  for  ourselves,  finding  what  nat- 
ural cover  there  was,  and  otherwise  getting 
ready  for  the  night,  which  was  near.  It  began 
to  rain,  and  we  could  hardly  keep  any  fires 
going,  because  we  had  to  shelter  them  from  the 
shore  side,  so  the  enemy  could  not  spot  us, 
and  the  wind  was  from  the  sea.  It  was  certainly 
miserable  that  night. 

Every  once  in  a  while,  we  would  stand  by  to 
repel  an  attack,  whether  it  was  a  real  one  or 
not,  and  we  were  under  fire  all  the  time.  It 
seemed  as  if  morning  would  never  come.  The 
sand  was  full  of  fleas  —  great  big  boys  —  and 
they  were  as  bad  as  any  cooties  I  had  ever  had 
at  Dixmude. 

The  morning  came  at  last,  and  I  was  detailed 
with  a  fatigue  party  to  go  to  the  beach  where 
we  had  landed  stores.  When  we  got  down  to 
the  docks,  I  missed  Murray,  and  asked  where 
he  was.  They  said  he  had  been  missing  from 
his  post  not  more  than  an  hour  from  the  time  we 
left. 

I  left  my  fatigue  party,  without  orders,  and 
joined  in  the  hunt  for  Murray.  There  were  men 


154  Gunner  Depew 

searching  all  along  the  docks  and  on  the  shore 
to  each  side.  Finally,  I  saw  a  bunch  of  men 
collect  around  a  store  house  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  docks,  on  the  shore  side.  I  ran  up  to 
them. 

There  was  poor  old  Murray.  They  were  just 
taking  him  down.  He  had  been  crucified  against 
the  wall  of  the  store  house.  There  was  a  bayonet 
through  each  arm,  one  through  each  foot,  and 
one  through  his  stomach.  One  of  the  garbies 
fainted  when  he  had  to  pull  one  of  the  bayonets 
out.  They  had  hacked  off  his  right  hand  at  the 
wrist,  and  taken  his  identification  disc.  I  lay 
this  to  the  German  officers  more  than  the  Turks. 

I  do  not  know  just  what  I  did  after  this.  But 
it  changed  me  all  around,  and  I  was  not  like  my 
usual  self  during  the  rest  of  the  time. 

It  was  still  raining  when  we  started  on  our 
way  to  the  front  line.  Along  the  road  were 
numbers  of  troops  scoffing,  and  among  them 
Indian  troops  on  sentry  duty.  They  looked 
like  a  bunch  of  frozen  turnips,  cool  and  uncom- 
fortable. We  were  close  enough  to  make  the 
roar  of  the  cannonading  seem  intolerably  loud, 
and  could  see  the  bursting  shells,  particularly 
those  from  the  British  ships. 

Then  we  came  across  some  Turkish  prisoners, 
who  were  sheltering  in  an  old  barn,  I  guess  it 
was,  and  we  stopped  for  shelter  and  rest.  They 
told  us  that  their  troops  were  very  tired  from 
long  fighting,  but  that  they  had  plenty  of  men. 
They  said  a  couple  of  shells  had  dropped  about 
a  hundred  yards  from  the  barn  just  before  we 


A  Pal  Crucified  155 

came,  so  we  knew  the  batteries  were  trying  to 
get  our  range,  and  we  did  not  stay  any  longer, 
but  went  away  from  there  and  on  our  road. 

About  500  yards  farther  on,  we  came  to  a 
ruins,  and  when  we  went  inside,  we  found  fifty 
or  sixty  of  our  boys  'cooking  and  sleeping  and 
not  giving  a  thought  to  the  shells  or  shrapnel. 
The  mules  outside  were  banging  away  at  the  hay, 
as  though  there  never  had  been  a  war  in  the 
world.  There  was  no  shell  made  that  could 
budge  them  away  from  that  hay  unless  it  hit 
them. 

Then  along  came  a  cart  making  a  lot  of 
racket.  One  of  the  fellows  in  it  had  half  of 
his  face  shot  away  and  was  all  bandaged  up, 
but  he  was  trying  to  sing  and  laugh  just  the 
same,  as  the  rest  were  doing.  They  were  Anzacs, 
and  were  pretty  badly  shot  up. 

The  word  "  Anzac,"  as  you  probably  know, 
is  made  from  the  initials  of  the  Australian  and 
New  Zealand  Army  Corps.  They  had  a  regular 
town  called  Anzac  on  the  Peninsula,  At  Suvla 
Bay  and  around  Gaba  Tepe,  the  Anzacs  got 
farther  into  the  Turkish  lines  than,  any  other 
unit  of  the  Allied  armies.  They  were  wonderful 
fighters. 

By  this  time,  the  Turks  were  making  an 
attack,  and  all  you  could  see  to  the  front  was 
one  long  line  of  smoke  and  spouting  earth.  Then 
our  guns  started,  and  the  noise  was  deafening. 
It  was  worse  than  in  the  turrets  aboard  ship 
during  an  engagement.  My  head  rang  for  days 
after  we  left  the  Dardanelles. 


156  Gunner  Depew 

The  Turks  were  getting  a  better  idea  of  our 
range  now,  and  the  shells  were  falling  pretty 
close  to  us,  but  finally,  we  tore  in  with  the  14- 
inch  navals  and  ripped  up  three  of  their  bat- 
teries. In  the  lull  that  followed  we  made 
good  time  and  reached  our  front  line  positions 
at  Sedd-el-Bahr  during  the  afternoon. 

The  next  morning  we  made  our  first  attack. 
I  had  had  a  bad  night  of  it,  thinking  about 
Murray,  and  when  the  time  came,  there  never 
was  a  chap  more  glad  to  charge  and  get  a  chance 
at  the  enemy  with  a  bayonet  than  I  was. 

We  attacked  according  to  a  regular  pro- 
gramme. Time  cards  were  issued  to  the  officer 
of  each  section,  so  that  we  would  work  exactly 
with  the  barrage.  To  be  ahead  of,  or  behind  the 
time  card  would  mean  walking  into  our  own 
barrage.  The  time  of  attack  is  called  Zero  — 
that  is,  the  minute  when  you  leave  the  trench. 
Some  of  the  Anzacs  said  it  meant  when  your 
feet  got  the  coldest,  but  I  do  not  think  they 
suffered  very  much  with  trouble  in  the  feet  — 
not  when  they  were  advancing,  anyway. 

The  time  card  might  read  something  like  this: 
First  Wave,  Zero,  advance,  rapid  walk,  barrage 
twenty-five  in  ten  seconds,  take  first  trench,  0:20; 
second  wave,  same  as  the  first,  pass  first  trench, 
0:23,  take  second  trench,  0:35.  The  third  wave 
is  ordered  to  take  the  third  trench,  and  so  on, 
for  as  many  lines  as  the  enemy  is  entrenched. 
The  other  waves  might  be  instructed  to  occupy 
Hill  7,  12 :08,  or  dig  in  behind  rock,  12 :45.  Here, 
Zero  is  understood,  the  first  figures  standing  for 


A  Pal  Crucified  157 

minutes  and  the  others  for  seconds.  It  might 
take  several  hours  to  carry  out  the  programme, 
but  everything  is  laid  out  to  an  exact  schedule. 

I  was  in  the  sixth  line  of  the  third  wave  of 
attack,  and  Zero  was  4:30  a.  m.  Whistles  were 
to  be  the  signal  for  Zero,  and  we  were  to  walk 
to  the  first  line  Turkish  trench.  As  we  came  out, 
our  barrage  fire  would  be  bursting  fifty  yards 
ahead  of  us,  and  would  lift  twenty-five  yards 
every  ten  seconds.  Our  stunt  was  to  take  advan- 
tage of  it  without  walking  into  it. 

No  one  man  can  see  all  of  an  attack,  which 
may  extend  over  miles  of  ground,  but  during  the 
three  weeks  I  was  in  the  trenches  on  the  Gallipoli 
Peninsula,  we  made  four  grand  attacks  and  many 
minor  ones,  so  I  know  in  a  general  way  what 
they  are  like.  Each  wave  is  organized  like  the 
others.  First  come  three  lines  of  what  you  might 
call  grenadiers,  though  they  are  not  picked  for 
size  as  the  old  King's  Grenadiers  used  to  be. 
They  are  deployed  in  skirmish  formation,  which 
means  that  every  man  is  three  yards  from  the 
next.  They  are  armed  only  with  grenades,  but 
you  can  take  it  from  me,  that  is  enough !  Behind 
them  come  two  lines,  also  in  skirmish  formation, 
and  armed  with  machine  guns  and  grenade  rifles. 
The  first  men  on  the  left  carry  machine  guns, 
then  come  three  rifle  grenadiers,  and  then 
another  machine  gun  and  so  on  down  the  length 
of  the  line.  After  these  come  two  lines  of 
riflemen  with  fixed  bayonets. 

Then  come  the  trench-cleaners,  or  moppers- 
up,  as  we  called  them.-*  They  were  some  gang, 


158  Gunner  Depew 

believe  me.  Imagine  a  team  of  rugby  players 
spread  out  in  two  lines  —  only  with  hundreds  of 
men  on  the  team  instead  of  eleven,  and  each 
man  a  husky,  capable  of  handling  a  baby  grand 
piano  single-handed.  These  fellows  were  armed 
with  everything  you  could  think  of,  and  a  whole 
lot  more  that  you  could  not  dream  about  in  a 
nightmare.  It  used  to  remind  me  of  a  trial  I  saw 
in  New  York  once,  where  the  police  had  raided 
a  yeggmen's  flop  and  had  all  their  weapons  in 
the  courtroom  as  exhibits. 

The  moppers-up  were  heeled  with  sticks,  clubs, 
shillelahs,  black-jacks,  two-handed  cleavers, 
axes,  trench  knives,  poniards^  up  to  date  toma- 
hawks, brass  knucks,  slung  shots  —  anything  that 
was  ever  invented  for  crashing  a  man  with,  I 
guess,  except  firearms.  These  knock-down-drag- 
out  artists  follow  the  riflemen  very  closely.  Their 
job  was  to  take  care  of  all  the  Turks  who  could 
not  escape,  and  would  not  surrender. 

There  are  lots  of  men  in  any  army  who  will 
not  surrender,  but  I  think  probably  there  were 
more  Turks  of  that  gameness  than  men  in  most 
other  armies.  I  have  heard  that  it  is  part  of 
their  religion  that  a  man,  if  he  dies  fighting,  goes 
to  a  very  specially  fancy  heaven,  with  plenty  to 
eat  and  smoke.  And  I  suppose  if  he  surrenders, 
they  believe  he  will  be  put  in  the  black  gang, 
stoking  for  eternity  down  below.  It  was  awfully 
hot  at  the  Dardanelles,  and  I  guess  the  Turks 
did  not  want  it  any  hotter,  for  very  few  of  them 
ever  surrendered,  and  the  trench  cleaners  had  a 
lot  to  do.  Their  job  is  really  important,  for  it 


A  Pal  Crucified  159 

is  dangerous  to  have  groups  of  the  enemy  alive 
and  kicking  around  in  their  trenches  after  you 
have  passed.  Almost  every  prisoner  we  took 
was  wounded. 

The  one  thing  that  I  do  not  like  to  have  people 
ask  me  is,  "  How  does  it  feel  to  kill  a  man?  " 
and  I  think  the  other  boys  feel  the  same  way 
about  it.  It  is  not  a  thing  you  like  to  talk  about 
or  think  about  either.  But  this  time  at  "  V  " 
Beach,  when  we  got  past  the  first  and  second 
Turk  trenches  and  were  at  work  on  the  third, 
I  do  not  mind  saying  that  I  was  glad  whenever 
I  slipped  my  bayonet  into  a  Turk,  and  more 
glad  when  I  saw  another  one  coming.  I  guess  I 
saw  red  all  right.  Each  time  I  thought,  ' '  Maybe 
you  are  the  one  who  did  for  poor  old  Murray." 
And  I  could  see  Murray  as  he  looked,  when  they 
took  him  down  from  the  storehouse  wall.  Then 
I  would  stick  another  one. 

The  others  from  the  Cassard  were  red-hot 
too,  and  they  went  at  the  Turks  in  great  style. 
There  was  nothing  to  complain  about  in  the 
way  they  fought,  but  I  wished  that  we  had  had 
a  few  more  boys  from  the  Foreign  Legion  with 
us.  I  think  we  would  have  gone  clear  on  through 
to  Constantinople. 

But  the  Turks  were  not  as  bad  as  Fritz. 
They  were  just  as  good  or  better  as  fighters, 
and  a  whole  lot  whiter.  Often,  when  we  were 
frying  in  the  trenches  and  not  a  drop  of  water 
was  to  be  had,  something  would  land  on  the 
ground  near  us  and  there  would  be  a  water 
bottle,  full.  Sometimes  they  almost  bombarded 


160  Gunner  Depew 

us  with  bottles.  Then,  too,  they  would  not  fire 
on  the  Red  Cross  as  the  Germans  do :  they  would 
hold  their  fire  many  times  when  we  were  out 
picking  up  our  wounded.  Several  times  they 
dragged  our  wounded  as  close  as  they  could  to 
the  barbed  wire,  that  we  might  find  them  easier. 

After  Murray  died,  I  got  to  thinking  a  lot 
more  than  I  used  to,  and  though  I  did  not  have 
any  hunch  exactly,  still  I  felt  as  though  I  might 
get  it  too,  which  was  something  I  had  never 
thought  much  about  before.  I  used  to  think 
about  my  grandmother,  too,  when  I  had  time, 
and  about  Brown.  I  used  to  wonder  what 
Brown  was  doing,  and  wish  we  were  together. 
But  I  could  remember  my  grandmother 
smiling,  and  that  helped  some.  I  guess  I  was 
lonely,  to  tell  the  truth.  I  did  not  know  the 
other  garbies  very  well,  and  the  only  one  left 
that  I  was  really  very  friendly  with  got  his  soon 
afterward,  though  not  as  bad  as  Murray.  And 
then  there  was  no  one  that  I  was  really  chummy 
with.  That  would  not  have  bothered  me  at  all 
before  Murray  died. 

The  other  lad  I  spoke  of,  as  having  been 
chummy  with,  was  named  Phillippe  Pierre.  He 
•was  about  eighteen,  and  came  from  Bordeaux. 
He  was  a  very  cheerful  fellow,  and  he  and 
Murray  and  I  used  to  be  together  a  lot.  He 
felt  almost  as  bad  about  Murray  as  I  did,  and 
you  could  see  that  it  changed  him  a  great  deal, 
too.  But  he  was  still  cheerful  most  of  the-  time. 


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CHAPTER  XIII 
LIMEYS,  ANZACS  AND  POILUS 

One  night,  while  we  were  expecting  to  attack, 
the  word  was  passed  down  the  line  to  have  the 
wire  cutters  ready,  and  to  use  bayonets  only 
for  the  first  part  of  the  attack,  for  we  were  to 
try  and  take  the  first  enemy  trench  by  surprise. 
The  first  trench  was  only  about  eighty  yards 
away.  Our  big  guns  opened  up,  and  at  Zero 
we  climbed  out,  and  followed  the  curtain  of  fire 
too  closely,  it  seemed  to  me. 

But  the  barrage  stopped  too  soon,  as  it  does 
sometimes,  and  there  were  plenty  of  Turks  left. 
We  were  half  way  across  when  they  saw  us, 
and  they  began  banging  away  at  us  very  hard. 
They  pounded  at  us  as  we  came  on  until  we 
were  given  the  order  to  retire,  almost  as  we 
were  on  them  —  what  was  left  of  us. 

As  we  turned  and  started  back,  the  Turks 
rushed  out  to  counter-attack  us,  the  first  of  them 
busy  with  bombs.  Then  I  tripped  over  some- 
thing and  rolled  around  a  while,  and  then  saw 
it  was  Phillippe  Pierre.  His  left  leg  was 
dangling,  cloth  and  flesh  and  all  shot  away,  and 
the  leg  hanging  to  the  rest  of  him  by  a  shred. 
Two  or  three  of  our  men,  who  were  on  their 
way  back  to  our  trenches,  tripped  over  me  as 
I  tried  to  get  up,  and  then  a  shell  exploded 

161 


162  Gunner  Depew 

nearby  and  I  thought  I  had  got  it  sure,  but  it 
was  only  the  rocks  thrown  up  by  the  explosion. 

Finally,  I  was  able  to  stand  up.  So  I  slung 
my  rifle  over  one  shoulder  and  got  Phillippe 
Pierre  up  on  the  other,  with  his  body  from 
the  waist  up  hanging  over  my  back,  so  that  I 
could  hold  his  wounded  leg  on,  and  started  back. 
There  were  only  one  or  two  of  our  men  left 
between  the  trenches.  Our  machine  guns  were 
at  it  hard,  and  the  Turks  were  firing  and  bomb- 
ing at  full  speed. 

I  had  not  gone  more  than  two  or  three  paces 
when  I  came  across  another  of  our  men, 
wounded  in  several  places,  and  groaning  away 
at  a  great  rate.  Phillippe  Pierre  was  not  say- 
ing a  word,  but  the  other  chap  did  enough  for 
the  two  of  them.  One  wounded  man  was  all  I 
could  manage,  with  my  rifle  and  pack,  over  the 
rough  ground  and  the  barbed  wire  I  had  to  go 
through.  So  I  told  this  fellow,  whose  name  I 
cannot  remember  —  I  never  did  know  him  very 
well  —  that  I  would  come  back  for  him,  and 
went  on.  I  almost  fell  several  times,  but  man- 
aged to  get  through  safely  and  rolled  over  our 
parapet  with  Phillippe  Pierre.  They  started  the 
lad  back  in  a  stretcher  right  away.  When  I 
saw  him  again  he  gave  me  a  little  box  as  a 
souvenir,  but  I  have  lost  it. 

The  Turks  'had  not  got  very  far  with  their 
counter-attack,  because  we  were  able  to  get  our 
barrage  going  in  time  to  check  them.  But  they 
were  still  out  in  front  of  their  trenches  when  I 
started  back  after  the  other  garby.  I  was  not 


Limeys,  Anzacs  and  Poilus         163 

exactly  afraid,  as  I  crawled  along  searching 
for  the  other  man,  but  I  was  very  thirsty  and 
nervous  for  fear  our  barrage  would  begin  again 
or  the  machine  guns  cut  loose.  After  what 
seemed  a  long  time,  I  came  upon  a  wounded 
man,  but  he  was  not  the  one  I  was  after.  I 
thought  about  a  bird  in  the  hand,  etc.,  and  was 
just  starting  to  pick  this  chap  up  when  a  shell 
burst  almost  on  us  and  knocked  me  two  or  three 
feet  away.  It  is  a  wonder  it  did  not  kill  both 
of  us,  but  neither  of  us  were  hurt.  I  thought 
the  fire  would  get  heavier  then,  so  I  dragged 
the  other  chap  into  one  of  two  holes  made  by 
the  shell.  Some  pieces  of  the  shell  had  stuck  into 
the  dirt  in  the  hole,  and  they  were  still  hot. 
Also,  there  was  a  sort  of  gas  there  that  hung 
around  for  several  minutes,  but  it  was  not  very 
bad. 

The  man  began  talking  to  me,  and  he  said  it 
was  an  honor  to  lie  on  the  field  of  battle  with 
a  leg  shot  off  and  dead  men  piled  all  about  you, 
and  some  not  dead  but  groaning.  He  told  me 
I  would  soon  be  able  to  bear  the  groaning, 
though  I  had  not  said  I  minded  it,  or  anything 
about  it.  Then  he  said  again  what  an  honor 
it  was,  and  asked  if  I  had  a  drink  for  him.  I 
had  not  had  any  water  all  day,  and  I  told  him 
so,  but  he  kept  on  asking  for  it  all  the  same. 
Some  of  the  Turkish  bombers  must  have  sneaked 
up  pretty  close  to  our  lines,  for  when  I  looked 
out  of  the  hole  toward  our  lines,  and  a  shell 
burst  near  them,  I  could  see  a  Turk  coming 


164  Gunner  Depew 

towards  us.  We  played  dead  then,  but  I  had  my 
bayonet  ready  for  him  in  case  he  had  seen  us 
and  decided  to  come  up  to  the  hole.  Evidently 
he  had  not,  for  when  he  got  near  the  hole,  he 
steered  to  the  side  and  went  around. 

The  other  garby  was  cheerful,  when  he  was 
not  asking  for  water,  but  you  could  see  he  was 
going  fast.  So  we  sat  there  in  the  hole  and  he 
died.  Shortly  afterward,  the  fire  slackened  a 
little,  and  I  got  out  and  started  toward  our  lines. 
But  I  remembered  about  the  other  wounded  man 
I  had  passed  when  I  was  carrying  Phillippe 
Pierre,  so  I  began  hunting  for  him  and  after  a 
long  time  I  found  him.  He  was  still  alive.  His 
chest  was  all  smashed  in  and  he  was  badly  cut 
up  around  the  neck  and  shoulders.  I  picked  him 
up  and  started  back,  but  ran  into  some  barbed 
wire  and  had  to  go  around.  I  was  pretty  tired 
by  this  time  and  awfully  thirsty,  and  I  thought 
if  I  did  not  rest  a  little  bit,  I  could  never  make 
it.  I  was  so  tired  and  nervous  that  I  did  not 
care  much  whether  I  did  get  back  or  not,  and 
the  wounded  garby  was  groaning  all  the  time. 

So  when  I  thought  the  shells  were  coming 
pretty  thick  again,  I  got  into  a  shell  hole,  and 
it  was  the  same  one  I  had  left  not  long  before. 
The  dead  garby  was  there  just  as  I  had  left  him. 

The  wounded  one  was  bleeding  all  over,  and 
my  clothes  were  just  soaked  with  blood  from 
the  three  men,  but  most  of  all  from  him.  There 
was  some  of  my  own  blood  on  me,  too,  for  when 
I  was  knocked  down  by  the  shell,  my  nose,  bled 


Limeys,  Anzacs  and  Poilus         165 

and  kept  on  bleeding  for  a  long  time,  but,  of 
course,  that  was  nothing  compared  to  the  bleed- 
ing of  the  others. 

The  worst  of  all  was  that  he  kept  groaning 
for  water,  and  it  made  me  thirstier  than  I  had 
been,  even.  But  there  was  not  a  drop  of  water 
anywhere,  and  I  knew  there  was  no  use  searching 
any  bodies  for  flasks.  So  we  just  had  to  stick 
it  out.  Pretty  soon  the  wounded  man  quit 
groaning  and  was  quiet,  and  I  knew  he  was  going 
to  die,  too.  It  made  me  mad  to  think  that  I  had 
not  been  of  any  use  in  carrying  these  two  men 
around,  but  if  I  had  gone  on  with  either  of 
them,  it  would  have  been  just  the  same  —  they 
would  have  died,  and  probably  I  would  have  got 
it,  too.  When  I  figured  it  out  this  way,  I  quit 
worrying  about  it,  only  I  wished  the  fire  would 
let  up. 

So  the  other  man  died,  and  there  were  two  of 
them  in  the  hole.  I  read  the  numbers  on  their 
identification  discs  when  shells  burst  near  enough 
so  that  I  could  see  them,  and  after  a  while,  got 
back  to  our  lines  and  rolled  in.  I  could  not 
remember  the  numbers  or  the  names  by  that 
time,  but  a  working  party  got  them,  along  with 
others,  so  it  was  all  right. 

My  clothes  were  a  mess,  as  I  have  said,  and 
I  was  so  tired  I  thought  I  could  sleep  for  a 
week,  but  I  could  not  stand  it  in  my  clothes  any 
longer.  It  was  absolutely  against  regulations, 
but  I  took  off  all  my  clothes  —  the  blood  had 
soaked  in  to  the  skin  —  and  wrapped  myself  in 
nothing  but  air  and  went  right  to  sleep.  I  did 


166  Gunner  Depew 

not  sleep  very  well,  but  woke  up  every  once  in 
a  while,  and  thought  I  was  in  the  hole  again. 

During  the  night  they  brought  up  water,  but 
I  was  asleep  and  did  not  know  it.  They  did 
not  wake  me,  but  two  men  saved  my  share  for 
me,  though  usually  in  a  case  like  that,  it  was 
everybody  for  himself  and  let  the  last  man  go 
dry.  You  could  not  blame  them,  either,  so  I 
thought  it  was  pretty  decent  of  these  two  to 
save  my  share  for  me.  I  believe  they  must  have 
had  a  hard  time  keeping  the  others  off  of  it,  to 
say  nothing  of  themselves,  for  there  really  was 
not  more  than  enough  for  one  good  drink  all 
around.  It  tasted  better  than  anything  I  have 
ever  drunk.  Go  dry  for  twenty-four  hours  in 
the  hottest  weather  you  can  find,  do  a  night's 
work  like  that,  and  come  to  in  the  morning  with 
a  tin  cup  full  of  muddy  water  being  handed 
to  you,  and  you  will  know  what  I  mean. 

At  Gaba  Tepe  there  were  steep  little  hills,  with 
quarries  in  between  them,  and  most  of  the  pris- 
oners we  took  were  caught  in  the  quarries.  We 
found  lots  of  dead  Turks  under  piles  of  rock, 
where  our  guns  had  battered  the  walls  of  the 
quarries  down  on  them. 

We  were  fighting  about  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try one  time  when  we  saw  three  motor  trucks 
disappear  over  the  side  of  a  hill  going  across 
country.  The  detachment  from  the  Cassard  was 
sent  over  on  the  run,  and  we  came  upon  the 
Turks  from  those  trucks  and  several  others  just 
after  they  had  got  out  and  were  starting  ahead 
on  foot.  We  captured  the  whole  bunch  —  I  do 


Limeys,  Anzacs  and  Poilus         167 

not  know  how  many  in  all.  They  Were  rein- 
forcements on  their  way  to  a  part  of  their  line 
that  we  were  battering  very  hard,  and  by  cap- 
turing them  we  helped  the  Anzacs  a  great  deal, 
for  they  were  able  to  get  through  for  a  big 
gain. 

We  held  that  position,  though  they  rained 
shells  on  us  so  hard  all  that  day  and  night  that 
we  thought  they  were  placing  a  barrage  for  a 
raid,  and  stood  to  arms  until  almost  noon  the 
next  day.  But  our  guns  gave  back  shell  for 
shell,  and  pounded  the  Turkish  trenches  and 
broke  shrapnel  over  them  until  they  had  all  they 
could  do  to  stay  in  them. 

Finally,  our  guns  placed  shell  after  shell  on 
the  enemy's  communication  trenches,  and  they 
could  neither  bring  up  reinforcements  nor  retire. 
So  we  went  over  and  cleaned  them  out  and  took 
the  trench.  But  then  our  guns  had  to  stop, 
because  we  were  in  range,  and  the  Turks  brought 
up  reinforcements  from  other  parts  of  the  line 
and  we  were  driven  back,  after  holding  their 
trench  all  afternoon.  It  was  about  fifty-fifty, 
though,  for  when  they  reinforced  one  part  of 
the  line,  some  of  our  troops  would  break 
through  in  another  part. 

That  night  there  was  a  terrible  rainstorm.  I 
guess  it  was  really  a  cloudburst.  We  had  all 
the  water  we  wanted,  then,  and  more  too.  A 
great  many  men  and  mules  were  drowned,  both 
of  our  troops  and  the  Turkish.  Trenches  were 
washed  in,  and  most  of  the  works  ruined.  There 
were  several  Turkish  bodies  washed  into  our 


168  Gunner  Depew 

trench,  and  two  mules  came  over  together, 
though  whether  they  were  Turkish  or  French  or 
British  I  do  not  know. 

A  few  days  after  the  rain  stopped,  I  was 
going  along  the  road  to  the  docks  at  "  V  " 
Beach  when  I  saw  some  examples  of  the  freak- 
ishness  of  shells.  There  was  a  long  string  of 
mules  going  back  to  the  trenches  with  water 
and  supplies  of  various  kinds.  We  drew  up  to 
one  side  to  let  them  pass.  Two  or  three  mules 
away  from  us  was  an  old-timer  with  only  one 
ear,  and  that  very  gray,  loaded  to  the  gunwales 
with  bags  of  water.  He  had  had  his  troubles, 
that  old  boy,  but  they  were  just  about  over,  for 
there  was  a  flash  and  the  next  minute  you  could 
not  see  a  thing  left  of  Old  Missouri.  He  just 
vanished.  But  two  of  the  water  bags  were  not 
even  touched,  and  another  one  had  only  a  little 
hole  in  it.  There  they  lay  on  the  ground,  just 
as  though  you  had  taken  the  mule  out  from 
under  them.  The  mules  next  him,  fore  and  aft, 
were  knocked  down  by  the  concussion  but  un- 
harmed; but  the  third  mule  behind  had  one  ear 
cut  to  shreds,  and  the  man  walking  beside  him 
was  badly  shot  up  and  stunned. 

A  little  farther  on,  a  shell  had  struck  the 
road  and  plowed  a  furrow  two  or  three  feet 
wide,  and  just  as  straight  as  though  it  had  been 
laid  out  by  a  surveyor.  The  Turk  who  fired  it 
must  have  been  a  Kelley  pool  shark,  for  after 
running  as  straight  as  an  arrow  for  three  or 
four  yards,  the  furrow  turned  off  at  almost  a 
right  angle  and  continued  for  a  yard  or  two 


Limeys,  Anzacs  and  Poilus          169 

more  before  it  burst  and  made  a  big  hole.  That 
Turk  gunner  must  have  put  a  lot  of  English 
on  that  shell  when  he  fired  it.  He  got  some- 
body's number  with  that  shot,  too,  and  the  lad 
paid  pretty  high,  for  there  was  blood  around 
the  hole,  not  quite  dry  when  we  got  to  it. 

Coming  back  along  this  same  road,  we  halted 
to  let  another  convoy  of  mules  go  past,  and  an 
officer  of  the  Royal  Naval  Division  came  up  and 
began  talking  to  our  officers.  He  was  telling 
them  how  he  and  his  men  had  landed  at  "  X  " 
Beach,  and  how  they  had  to  wade  ashore  through 
barbed  wire.  "  And  you  know,"  he  said  in  a 
surprised  way,  as  if  he  himself  could  hardly 
believe  it;  "  the  beggars  were  actually  firing 
on  usl  '  That  is  just  like  the  Limeys,  though. 
Their  idea  is  not  to  appear  excited  about  any- 
thing at  any  time,  but  to  act  as  though  they 
were  playing  cricket  —  standing  around  on  a 
lawn  with  paddles  in  their  hands,  half  asleep. 
The  Limeys  are  certainly  cool  under  fire,  though, 
and  I  think  that  because  the  Anzacs  did  so  well 
at  Gallipoli,  people  have  not  given  enough  credit 
to  the  British  regulars  and  E.  N.  D.'s,  who  were 
there,  too,  and  did  their  share  of  the  work,  and 
did  it  as  well  as  any  men  could. 

After  a  while,  this  officer  started  on  his  way 
aganv  and  as  he  cut  across  the  road,  a  French 
officer  came  up.  The  Limey  wore  a  monocle, 
which  caused  the  French  officer  to  stare  at  him 
a  minute  before  he  saluted.  After  the  English- 
man had  passed  him  the  Frenchman  took  a  large 
French  penny  out  of  his  pocket,  screwed  it  into 


170  Gunner  Depew 

his  eye  and  turned  toward  us  so  that  we  could 
see  it,  but  the  Limey  could  not. 

That  was  not  the  right  thing  to  do,  especially 
before  enlisted  men,  so  our  officers  did  not  laugh, 
but  the  men  did,  and  so  loud  that  the  Limey 
turned  around  and  caught  sight  of  the  French- 
man. He  started  back  toward  him  and  I  thought 
sure  there  would  be  a  fight,  or  that,  more  likely, 
the  Limey  would  report  him.  Our  officers  should 
have  placed  the  Frenchman  under  arrest,  at  that. 

The  Frenchman  expected  trouble,  too,  for  he 
pulled  up  very  straight  and  stiff,  but  he  left 
the  penny  in  his  eye.  The  Limey  came  up  to 
him,  halted  a  few  paces  off,  and  without  saying 
a  word,  took  the  monocle  out  of  his  eye,  twibbled 
it  three  or  four  feet  into  the  air,  and  caught  it 
in  his  other  eye  when  it  came  down. 

"  Do  that,  you  blighter,"  he  said  and  faced 
about  and  was  on  his  way  down  the  road.  They 
had  it  on  the  Frenchman  after  that. 

This  Phillippe  Pierre,  of  whom  I  have  spoken, 
told  me  a  story  about  two  Limey  officers  that  I 
hardly  believed;  yet  Phillippe  swore  it  was  the 
truth.  He  had  been  in  America  before  the 
war,  and  he  said  he  had  seen  one  of  the  officers 
that  the  story  is  about  many  times  in  New  York. 

He  said  there  were  two  Limey  officers  going 
along  the  road  arguing  about  the  German  shells, 
which  the  Turks  were  using.  One  of  the  officers 
said  they  were  no  good  because  they  did  not 
burst.  Just  about  that  time  a  shell  came  along, 
and  they  picked  themselves  up  quite  a  distance 
from  where  they  had  been  standing.  Another 


Limeys,  Anzacs  and  Poilus         171 

shell  whizzed  by  and  landed  flat  on  the  side  of 
the  road.  The  officer  walked  over,  dug  it  out 
of  the  ground,  and  took  away  the  detonator 
and  fuse  —  to  prove  that  they  did  not  explode! 
The  only  thing  that  would  make  me  believe 
that  story  is  that  Phillippe  Pierre  said  they 
were  Limey  officers.  No  one  but  a  Limey  would 
remember  such  an  argument  after  being  knocked 
galley-west  by  a  shell  concussion.  I  do  not  doubt 
that  a  Limey  would  do  it  if  it  could  be  done, 
though. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  CROIX  DE  GUERRE 

When  we  had  been  on  shore  for  about  three 
weeks,  we  found  ourselves  one  morning  some- 
where near  Sedd-el-Bahr  under  the  heaviest 
fire  I  have  ever  experienced.  Our  guns  and 
the  Turks*  were  at  it  full  blast,  and  the  noise 
was  worse  than  deafening.  It  had  been  bad 
enough  when  only  our  guns  were  pounding,  but 
when  the  Turkish  howitzers  and  rifle  guns  of 
all  calibres  joined  in,  it  was  simply  hell-all-over- 
us,  with  Old  Nick  heating  the  hinges. 

A  section  of  my  company  was  lying  out  in  a 
shell  hole  near  the  communication  trench  with 
nothing  to  do  but  wait  for  a  shell  to  find  them. 
We  were  stiff  and  thirsty  and  uncomfortable,  and 
had  not  slept  for  two  nights.  In  that  time  we 
had  been  under  constant  fire,  and  had  stood 
off  several  raiding  parties  and  small  attacks 
from  the  enemy  trenches. 

We  had  no  sooner  got  used  to  the  shell  hole 
and  were  making  ourselves  as  comfortable  as 
possible  in  it,  when  along  came  a  shell  of  what 
must  have  been  the  Jack  Johnson  size,  and  we 
were  swamped.  We  had  to  dig  three  of  the  men 
out,  and  though  one  of  them  was  badly  wounded, 
we  could  not  send  him  back  to  hospital.  In 

172 


The  Croix  de  Guerre  173 

fact,  the  shelling  was  so  heavy  that  none  of  us 
ever  expected  to  come  out  alive. 

So,  it  was  like  keeping  your  own  death  watch, 
with  the  shells  tuning  up  for  the  dirge.  It  was 
impossible  to  listen  to  the  shells.  If  you  kept 
your  mind  on  the  noise  for  any  length  of  time, 
it  would  split  your  ear  drums,  I  am  sure.  So 
all  we  could  do  was  to  lay  low  in  the  shell  hole, 
and  wait  for  something  to  happen. 

Then  they  began  using  shrapnel  on  us,  and 
one  of  our  machine  gunners,  who  got  up  from 
his  knees  to  change  his  position,  had  his  head 
taken  clean  off  his  shoulders,  and  the  rest  of 
him  landed  near  my  feet  and  squirmed  a  little, 
like  a  chicken  that  has  just  been  killed.  It  was 
awful  to  see  the  body  without  any  head  move 
around  in  that  way,  and  we  could  hardly  make 
ourselves  touch  it  for  some  time.  Then  we  rolled 
it  to  the  other  side  of  the  hole. 

Then,  to  one  side  of  us,  there  was  a  more  vio- 
lent explosion  than  any  yet.  The  earth  spouted 
up  and  fell  on  us,  and  big  clouds  of  black 
smoke,  sliding  along  the  ground,  covered 
our  shell  hole  and  hung  there  for  some  time. 
One  of  our  sergeants,  from  the  regular  French 
infantry,  said  it  was  a  shell  from  a  Turkish 
150-mm.  howitzer.  That  was  only  the  first  one. 
The  worst  thing  about  them  was  the  smoke: 
people  who  think  Pittsburgh  is  smoky  ought  to 
see  about  fifty  of  those  big  howitzer  shells  burst- 
ing one  after  another. 

We  could  not  tell  what  the  rest  of  our  line 
was  doing,  or  how  they  were  standing  the  awful 


174  Gunner  Depew 

fire,  but  we  felt  sure  they  were  not  having 
any  worse  time  than  we  were.  In  a  few  min- 
utes, we  heard  the  good  old  ' '  75  's  "  start  pound- 
ing, and  it  was  like  hearing  an  old  friend's 
voice  over  the  telephone,  and  everybody  in  our 
shell  hole  cheered,  though  no  one  could  hear  us 
and  we  could  barely  hear  each  other.  Still,  we 
knew  that  if  the  "  75  's  "  got  going  in  their  usual 
style,  they  would  do  for  an  enemy  battery  or 
two,  and  that  looked  good  to  us.  The  "  75 's  " 
made  the  noise  worse,  but  it  was  already  about 
as  bad  as  it  could  be,  and  a  thousand  guns  more 
or  less  would  not  have  made  it  any  harder  to 
stand. 

One  of  our  men  shouted  in  the  sergeant's  ear 
that  the  men  in  the  line  ahead  of  us  and  to  the 
right  were  trying  to  give  us  a  message  of  some 
kind.  The  sergeant  stuck  his  head  above  the 
parapet  and  had  a  look.  But  I  stayed  where 
I  was;  the  sergeant  could  see  for  himself  and 
me,  too,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned. 

He  shouted  at  us  that  the  men  in  the  other 
trench  were  trying  to  signal  something,  but  he 
could  not  make  it  out  because  the  clouds  of 
smoke  would  roll  between  them  and  break  up 
the  words.  So  he  laid  down  again  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  hole.  But  after  a  while  he  looked 
over  the  parapet  and  saw  a  man  just  leaving 
their  trench,  evidently  with  a  message  for  us,  and 
he  had  not  gone  five  steps  before  he  was  blown 
to  pieces,  and  the  lad  who  followed  him  got  his 
too,  so  they  stopped  trying  then. 

And  all  the  time  the  "  75 's  "  were  sending 


The  Croix  de  Guerre  175 

theirs  to  the  Turk  not  far  over  our  heads  from 
about  nine  hundred  yards  behind  us,  and  the 
howitzers  were  dropping  their  240-pound  bits  of 
iron  in  every  vacant  space  and  some  that  were 
not  vacant.  It  was  just  one  big  roar  and  screech 
and  growl  all  at  once,  like  turning  the  whole 
dog-pound  loose  on  a  piece  of  meat. 

The  concussions  felt  like  one  long  string  of 
boxes  on  the  ear,  and  our  throats  were  so  dry 
that  it  hurt  to  swallow,  which  always  makes 
your  ears  feel  better  after  a  strong  concussion. 
One  after  another  of  our  boys  was  slipping  to 
the  ground  and  digging  his  fists  into  his  ears, 
and  the  rest  of  them  sat  on  the  parapet  fire 
step  with  their  heads  between  their  knees  and 
their  arms  wrapped  round  their  heads. 

Our  sergeant  came  up  to  me  after  a  while,  and 
began  acting  just  like  people  do  at  a  show,  only 
he  shouted  instead  of  whispered  in  my  ear. 
When  people  are  looking  at  one  show  they  always 
want  to  tell  you  how  good  some  other  show  is, 
and  that  was  the  way  with  the  sergeant. 

"  You  should  see  what  they  did  to  us  at  St. 
Eloi,"  he  said.  "  They  just  baptized  us  with 
the  big  fellows.  They  did  not  know  when  to 
stop.  When  you  see  shelling  that  is  shelling, 
you  will  know  it,  my  son." 

"  Well,  if  this  is  not  shelling,  what  the  devil 
is  it?  Are  they  trying  to  kid  us  or  are  you, 
man  vieux?  "  which  is  a  French  expression  that 
means  something  like  "  old-timer." 

"  My  son,  when  you  see  dugouts  caved  in, 
roads  pushed  all  over  the  map,  guns  wrecked, 


176  Gunner  Depew 

bodies  twisted  up  in  knots  and  forty  men  killed 
by  one  shell  —  then  you  will  know  you  are  seeing 
shelling. ' ' 

I  told  him  I  could  get  along  without  seeing 
any  more  of  it  than  I  had,  and  he  started  kidding 
me  about  it.  He  was  a  great  card,  this  sergeant, 
and  a  very  brave  man.  He  always  called  us  his 
children  to  our  faces,  but  when  he  spoke  of  his 
men  to  other  sergeants  he  called  us  "  lice 
meat,"  because  he  said  sailors  were  better  fed 
than  soldiers  and  were  regular  dessert  for  the 
cooties. 

Then  one  of  our  men  sat  up  straight  against 
the  parapet  and  stared  at  us  and  began  to  shake 
all  over,  but  we  could  not  get  him  to  say  any- 
thing or  move.  So  we  knew  he  had  shell-shock. 
And  another  man  watched  him  for  a  while,  and 
then  he  began  to  shake  too.  The  sergeant  said 
that  if  we  stayed  there  much  longer,  we  would 
not  be  fit  to  repel  an  attack,  so  he  ordered  us 
into  the  two  dugouts  we  had  made  in  the  hole, 
and  only  himself  and  another  man  stayed  out- 
side on  watch. 

The  men  in  the  dugout  kept  asking  each  other 
when  the  bombardment  would  end,  and  why  we 
were  not  reinforced,  and  what  was  happening, 
and  whether  the  Turks  would  attack  us.  It  was 
easy  to  see  why  we  were  not  reinforced;  no 
body  of  men  could  have  got  to  us  from  the 
reserve  trenches.  The  communication  trenches 
were  quite  a  distance  from  us,  and  were  bat- 
tered up  at  that.  Some  of  the  men  said  we 
had  been  forgotten  and  that  the  rest  of  our 


The  Croix  de  Guerre  177 

troops  had  either  retired  or  advanced  and  that 
we  and  the  men  in  the  trench  who  had  tried  to 
signal  us  were  the  only  detachments  left  there. 

Pretty  soon  another  man  and  I  relieved  the 
two  men  who  were  outside  on  watch,  and  as  he 
went  down  into  the  dugout,  the  sergeant  shouted 
to  us  that  he  thought  the  Turks  were  afraid 
to  attack.  He  also  ordered  one  of  us  to  keep 
a  live  eye  toward  our  rear  in  case  any  of  our 
troops  should  try  to  signal  us.  When  I  looked 
through  a  little  gully,  at  the  top  of  the  hole, 
toward  the  other  trench,  all  I  could  see  was 
barbed  wire  and  smoke  and  two  or  three  corpses. 
I  began  to  shiver  a  little,  and  I  was  afraid  I 
would  get  shell-shock,  too.  So  I  began  to  think 
about  Murray  and  how  he  looked  when  they 
took  him  off  the  wall.  But  that  did  not  stop 
the  shivering,  so  I  thought  about  my  grand- 
mother and  how  she  looked  the  last  time  I  saw 
her.  I  was  thinking  about  her,  I  guess,  and  not 
keeping  a  very  good  lookout,  when  a  man  rolled 
over  the  edge  and  almost  fell  on  me.  He  was 
from  the  other  trenches.  I  carried  bim  into 
the  dugout,  and  then  went  out  again  and  stood 
my  watch  until  the  relief  came.  We  were  doing 
half-hour  shifts. 

When  I  got  into  the  dugout  again  the  man 
was  just  coming  to.  He  was  just  about  as  near 
shell-shock  as  I  had  been  —  by  this  time  I  was 
shivering  only  once  in  a  while  when  I  did  not 
watch  myself.  He  said  four  men  had  been 
sliced  up  trying  to  get  to  us  before  he  came; 
that  they  had  lost  eleven  men  out  of  their  thirty- 


178  Gunner  Depew 

two,  including  the  sergeant-major  in  command 
and  two  corporals;  that  they  were  almost  out 
of  ammunition;  that  the  trenches  on  both  sides 
of  them  had  been  blown  in,  and  that  they  were 
likely  to  go  to  pieces  at  any  moment.  He  said 
they  all  thought  the  Turks  would  attack  behind 
their  barrage,  for  he  said  the  curtain  of  fire 
did  not  extend  more  than  a  hundred  yards  in 
front  of  their  trench.  What  they  wanted  us 
to  do  was  to  relay  a  man  back  with  the  news 
and  either  get  the  word  to  advance  or  retire 
or  wait  for  reinforcements,  they  did  not  care 
which  —  only  to  be  ordered  to  do  something. 
There  was  not  a  commissioned  officer  left  with 
either  of  the  detachments,  you  see,  and  you 
might  say  we  were  up  in  the  air  —  only  we  were 
really  as  far  in  the  ground  as  we  could  get. 

The  man  thought  there  were  other  of  our  lines 
not  far  behind  us,  but  we  knew  better;  so  then 
he  said  he  did  not  see  how  any  one  could  get 
back  from  where  we  were  to  our  nearest  lines. 
I  did  not  see  either.  Then  we  all  figured  we 
were  forgotten  and  would  not  come  out  of  there 
alive,  and  you  can  believe  me  or  not,  but  I 
did  not  much  care.  Anything  would  be  better 
than  just  staying  there  in  that  awful  noise  with 
nothing  to  do,  and  no  water. 

Our  sergeant  said  he  would  not  ask  any  man 
to  attempt  to  carry  the  message,  because  he 
said  it  was  not  only  certain  death  but  absolutely 
useless.  And  he  began  to  show  that  he  was 
near  shell-shock  himself.  I  was  just  going  ^  to 
ask  him  if  he  thought  it  was  a  real  shelling 


The  Croix  de  Guerre  179 

now  when  I  saw  that  he  was  just  about  all  in, 
so  I  did  not  try  to  kid  him.  I  figured,  too, 
that  he  had  probably  talked  about  St.  Eloi  just 
to  cheer  us  up,  you  might  say,  and  make  us 
think  it  was  not  so  bad  after  all. 

Then  I  began  to  shiver  again,  and  I  thought 
to  myself  that  anything  would  be  better  than 
sitting  in  this  hole  waiting  to  go  cafard,  so  I 
decided  I  would  volunteer.  I  did  not  think  there 
was  any  chance  to  get  through,  but  it  seemed 
as  if  I  just  had  to  do  something,  no  matter 
what.  I  had  never  felt  that  way  before,  and 
had  never  been  anxious  to  go  West  with  a  shell 
for  company,  but  I  have  felt  that  way  since 
then  several  tunes,  I  can  tell  you. 

The  man  was  telling  us  that  some  time  before 
they  had  seen  the  Turks  bringing  up  ammuni- 
tion from  some  storehouses,  and  that  they  had 
watched  through  glasses  to  see  if  our  guns  got 
either  the  ammunition  trains  or  the  storehouses, 
but  that  they  did  not  come  anywhere  near.  He 
said  their  sergeant  wanted  our  messenger  to 
tell  them  that,  too.  He  would  say  a  few  words 
very  fast,  then  he  would  shiver  again,  and  his 
jaws  would  clip  together  and  he  would  try  to 
raise  his  hand,  but  could  not. 

Then  our  sergeant  asked  the  name  of  the 
other  sergeant,  and  when  the  man  told  him,  he 
said  the  other  man  was  senior  to  himself,  and 
therefore  in  command,  and  would  have  to  be 
obeyed. 

He  seemed  to  cheer  up  a  lot  after  he  said 
this,  and  did  not  shiver  any  more,  so  I  thought 


180  Gunner  Depew 

I  would  volunteer  then,  and  I  said  to  him,  ' '  Well, 
mon  vieux,  do  you  think  we  are  seeing  real 
shelling  now!  '  And  then  I  was  going  to  say 
I  would  go,  but  he  looked  at  me  in  a  funny 
way  for  a  second,  and  then  he  said,  "  Well,  my 
son,  suppose  you  go  and  find  out." 

I  thought  he  was  kidding  me  at  first,  but  then 
I  saw  he  meant  it.  I  thought  two  things  about 
it :  one  was  that  anything  was  better  than  staying 
there,  and  the  other  was  that  the  old  dugout  was 
a  pretty  fair  place  after  all.  But  I  did  not  say 
anything  to  the  sergeant  or  the  other  men  — 
just  went  out  of  the  dugout.  The  sergeant 
and  another  man  went  with  me  and  boosted  me 
over  the  back  wall  of  the  hole.  I  lay  flat  on 
the  ground  for  a  minute  to  get  my  bearings, 
and  then  started  off. 

I  set  my  course  for  where  I  thought  the  com- 
munication trenches  were,  to  the  right,  and  I 
just  stood  up  and  ran,  for  I  figured  that  as  the 
shells  were  falling  so  thick,  and  it  was  open 
ground,  I  would  not  have  any  better  chance  if 
I  crawled. 

I  tripped  several  times  and  went  down,  and 
each  time  I  thought  I  was  hit,  because  when  I 
got  it  in  the  thigh  at  Dixmude  it  felt  a  good 
deal  as  though  I  had  tripped  over  a  rope.  And 
one  time  when  I  fell,  a  shell  exploded  near  me 
and  I  began  to  shiver  again,  and  I  could  not 
go  on  for  a  long  time.  All  this  time  I  did  not 
think  I  would  get  through,  but  finally,  when 
I  reached  what  had  been  the  communication 
trench,  I  felt  I  had  done  the  worst  part  of  it, 


The  Croix  de  Guerre  181 

and  I  began  to  wish  very  hard  that  I  would 
get  through  —  I  was  not  at  all  crazy  about 
going  West. 

The  mouth  of  the  communication  trench  had 
been  battered  in,  and  the  trenches  it  joined  with 
were  all  filled  up.  There  were  rifles  sticking  out 
of  them  in  several  places,  and  I  thought  prob- 
ably the  men  had  been  buried  alive  in  them.  But 
it  was  too  late  then,  if  they  had  been  caught, 
so  I  climbed  over  the  blocked  entrance  to  the 
communication  trench  and  started  back  along  it. 
It  led  up  through  a  sort  of  gully,  and  I  thought 
it  was  a  bad  place  to  dig  a  communication  trench 
in,  because  it  gave  the  Turks  something  like 
the  side  of  a  hill  to  shoot  at. 

Every  once  in  a  while  I  would  have  to  climb 
in  and  out  of  a  shell  hole,  and  parts  of  them 
were  blocked  where  a  shell  had  caved  in  the 
walls.  In  one  place  I  saw  corpses  all  torn  to 
pieces,  so  I  knew  the  Turks  had  found  the 
range  and  had  got  to  this  trench  in  great  shape. 
At  another  place  I  found  lots  of  blood  and 
equipment  but  no  bodies,  and  I  figured  that 
reinforcements  had  been  caught  at  this  spot  and 
that  they  had  retired,  taking  their  casualties  with 
them. 

The  Turks  still  had  the  range,  and  they  were 
sending  a  shell  into  the  trench  every  once  in  a 
while,  and  I  was  knocked  down  again,  though 
the  shell  was  so  far  away  that  it  knocked  me 
down  from  force  of  habit  more  than  anything 
else.  I  felt  dizzy  and  shivered  a  lot,  and  kept 


182  Gunner  Depew 

trying  to  think  of  Murray  or  anything  else  but 
myself. 

So,  finally,  I  got  to  the  top  of  the  little  hill 
over  which  the  gully  ran,  and  on  the  other  side 
I  felt  almost  safe.  Just  down  from  the  crest 
of  the  hill  was  one  of  our  artillery  positions, 
with  the  good  old  "  75 's  "  giving  it  to  the  Turks 
as  fast  as  they  could.  I  told  the  artillery  offi- 
cers about  what  had  happened,  had  a  drink  of 
water  and  thought  I  would  take  a  nap.  But 
when  they  telephoned  the  message  back  to 
Division  Headquarters,  the  man  at  the  receiver 
said  something  to  the  officer,  and  he  told  me 
to  stay  there  and  be  ready.  I  thought  sure  he 
would  send  me  back  to  where  I  came  from,  and 
I  knew  I  could  never  make  it  again,  but  I  did 
not  say  anything. 

When  I  looked  around  I  saw  that  our  real 
position  was  to  the  right  of  where  the  artillery 
was,  and  that  there  were  three  lines  of  trenches 
with  French  infantry  in  them.  So  the  trenches 
I  had  come  from  were  more  like  outposts  than 
anything  else,  and  were  cut  off.  I  felt  pretty 
sure,  then,  that  the  boys  in  them  Would  never 
come  back  alive,  because  as  soon  as  their  fire 
let  up,  the  Turks  would  advance,  and  to  keep 
them  back  our  guns  would  have  to  wipe  out 
our  men,  and  if  they  did  not,  the  Turks  would. 
At  first  I  was  glad  I  had  come  out,  but  then 
I  remembered  what  the  artillery  officer  had  said, 
and  I  figured  I  would  have  to  go  back  and  stay 
with  them  or  bring  them  back.  Either  way, 


The  Croix  de  Guerre  183 

there  was  not  one  chance  in  a  hundred  that 
any  of  us  would  make  it.  Because,  when  I 
got  through  it  was  really  just  like  a  miracle,  and 
nobody  would  have  thought  it  could  happen. 

Then  the  officer  told  me  to  go  back  to  the 
Beach,  where  our  naval  guns  were,  and  that 
I  was  detailed  to  them.  Maybe  you  do  not  think 
I  was  glad?  But  there  was  rough  work  still 
ahead  of  me,  because  when  I  got  beyond  the 
third  line  I  saw  a  wide  open  field  that  was 
light  gray  from  the  shell  smoke  hanging  over  it, 
and  I  could  see  the  flashes  where  the  big  ones 
were  doing  their  work,  and  I  had  to  go  through 
that  field. 

I  fell  time  and  time  again,  sometimes  when  I 
thought  a  shell  was  near,  and  sometimes  when  I 
had  no  reason  for  it  —  only  I  was  thirsty  again, 
and  was  shivering  all  the  time,  and  was  so  weak 
I  could  not  have  choked  a  goldfish.  I  do  not 
remember  hardly  anything  about  going  through 
that  field,  and  you  might  say  the  next  thing 
I  knew  was  when  I  was  overtaken  by  a  dispatch 
runner,  and  got  in  a  tin  tub  at  the  side  of  a 
motorcycle  and  was  taken  to  the  guns. 

I  felt  ready  for  a  Rip  Van  Winkle  nap  then, 
but  the  officer  in  command  would  not  let  me. 
He  said  they  were  short  of  gunners  —  the  ter- 
rific shelling  had  killed  off  dozens  of  them  — 
and  as  he  knew  I  could  point  a  gun,  he  had 
ordered  them  over  the  telephone  to  get  me  to 
the  Beach  as  fast  as  possible.  He  spotted  the 
two  warehouses  I  have  spoken  of  for  me,  and 
said  it  was  up  to  us  to  put  them  out  of  com- 


184  Gunner  Depew 

mission.  The  gun  was  a  14-inch  naval,  and  that 
looked  good  to  me,  so  I  bucked  up  a  lot.  The 
warehouses  were  about  ten  or  eleven  miles  away, 
I  should  judge,  and  about  thirty  or  forty  yards 
apart. 

I  felt  very  weak,  as  I  have  said,  and  shivered 
every  once  in  a  while,  so  I  did  not  think  I  could 
do  much  gunning  worth  whistling  at.  But  they 
loaded  the  old  14-inch  and  made  ready,  and  we 
got  the  range  and  all  was  set.  The  officer  told 
me  to  let  her  ride.  So  I  said  to  myself:  "  This 
one  is  for  you,  Murray,  old  boy.  Let's  go 
from  here." 

So  I  sent  that  one  along  and  she  landed 
direct,  and  the  warehouse  went  up  in  fire  and 
smoke.  I  felt  good  then,  and  I  laid  the  wires 
on  the  other  warehouse  and  let  her  go.  But 
she  was  too  high,  and  I  made  a  clean  miss. 
Then  I  was  mad,  because  I  had  sent  that  one 
over  for  myself.  So  I  got  the  cross  wires  on 
the  warehouse  again,  and  I  said  to  myself: 
"  This  is  not  for  anybody  —  just  for  luck, 
because  I  sure  have  had  plenty  of  it  this  day." 

Then  the  juice  came  through  the  wires  and 
into  the  charge  and  away  she  went,  and  up 
went  the  second  warehouse.  That  made  two 
directs  out  of  three,  and  I  guess  it  hurt  the 
Turks  some  to  lose  all  their  ammunition.  The 
officer  kissed  me  before  I  could  duck,  and 
slapped  me  on  the  back  and  I  keeled  over.  I 
was  just  all  in. 

They  brought  me  to  with  rum,  and  they  said 
I  was  singing  when  I  came  to.  When  they  tried 


The  Croix  de  Guerre  185 

to  sing,  to  show  me  what  song  it  was,  I  figured 
it  was  "  Sweet  Adeline  "  that  they  meant.  But 
I  do  not  believe  I  came  to,  singing,  because  I 
never  sang  "  Sweet  Adeline  ':  before,  that  I 
know  of,  or  any  other  song  when  anybody  was 
in  range.  But  I  had  heard  it  lots  of  times,  so 
maybe  I  did  sing  it  at  that. 

Then  I  went  to  sleep  feeling  fine.  The  next 
morning  the  detachment  from  the  Cassard  was 
withdrawn,  and  I  saw  some  of  the  men  who  had 
been  in  the  two  trenches,  but  I  was  not  near 
enough  to  speak  to  them.  So  I  do  not  know 
how  they  got  out. 

You  never  saw  a  happier  bunch  in  your  life 
than  we  were  when  we  piled  into  the  life  boats 
and  launches  and  started  for  the  Cassard.  The 
old  ship  looked  pretty  good  to  us,  you  can  bet, 
and  we  said  if  we  never  put  our  hoofs  on  that 
place  again  it  would  be  soon  enough. 

We  were  shelled  on  our  way  out  to  the  Cas- 
sard, and  one  boat  was  overturned,  but  the 
men  were  rescued.  Two  men  in  the  launch  I 
was  in  were  wounded.  But  we  did  not  pay  any 
attention  to  that  shelling  —  the  Turks  might  just 
as  well  have  been  blowing  peas  at  us  through 
a  soda  straw  for  all  we  cared. 

I  noticed  that  when  we  came  near  the  Cassard 
the  other  boats  held  up  and  let  our  launch  get 
into  the  lead,  and  that  we  circled  around  the 
Cassard 's  bows  and  came  up  on  the  starboard 
side,  which  was  unusual.  But  I  did  not  think 
anything  of  it  until  I  came  up  over  the  side. 
There  were  the  side  boys  lined  up,  and  the  Old 


186  Gunner  Depew 

Man  there,  with  the  ship's  steward  beside  him. 

He  took  the  log  book  from  the  steward  and 
showed  it  to  me,  and  there  was  my  name  on  it. 
Now  when  you  are  punished  for  anything,  you 
are  logged,  but  I  could  not  figure  out  what  I 
had  done  to  get  punished  for,  so  I  was  very 
much  surprised.  But  the  Old  Man  slapped  me 
on  the  back  and  everybody  cheered,  and  then  I 
saw  it  was  not  punishment,  but  just  the  oppo- 
site. 

When  people  ask  me  what  I  have  received  my 
decoration  for  (Croix  de  Guerre),  I  tell  them  I 
do  not  rightly  know,  and  that  is  a  fact.  I  do 
not  know  whether  it  was  for  going  back  from 
those  trenches,  or  for  destroying  the  storehouses. 
So  I  always  tell  them  I  got  it  for  working  over- 
time. That  is  what  the  Limeys  say,  or  if  they 
have  the  Victoria  Cross,  they  say  they  got  it 
for  being  Very  Careless.  Ask  one  of  them  and 
see. 


CHAPTER  XV 
JE  SUIS  BLESSE 

All  of  us  were  certainly  glad  to  be  aboard  the 
Cassard  again,  and  if  any  place  ever  looked  like 
home  to  me,  it  was  the  old  ship.  Our  casualties 
were  very  high,  and  we  were  therefore  ordered 
to  put  back  to  Brest.  We  had  a  great  little 
celebration  that  night,  and  next  morning  weighed 
anchor  and  started  back,  after  clearing  for  action. 

I  was  still  pretty  blue  about  Murray,  but  very 
much  relieved  as  to  the  safety  of  my  own  skin, 
and  I  figured  that  after  the  Dardanelles  and  my 
last  day  there,  they  had  not  made  the  right  bullet 
for  me  yet.  The  rest  of  us  felt  about  the  same 
way,  and  we  were  singing  all  the  time. 

We  had  been  out  only  a  short  time,  though, 
when  the  singing  stopped,  for  we  ran  into  two 
German  cruisers  —  which  I  afterwards  heard 
were  the  Werft  and  the  Kaiserliche  Marwe  — 
one  on  the  starboard  and  one  on  the  port.  How 
they  had  managed  to  sneak  up  so  near  us  I 
do  not  know.  They  opened  up  on  us  at  not 
much  more  than  a  thousand  yards,  and  gave  us 
a  good  deal  of  hell  from  the  start,  though  with 
any  kind  of  gunnery  they  should  have  done  for 
us  thoroughly. 

187 


188  Gunner  Depew 

We  came  right  back  at  them,  and  were  getting 
in  some  pretty  good  shots.  I  was  in  the  14-inch 
gun  turret,  starboard  bow  —  my  old  hangout  — 
and  we  were  letting  them  have  it  about  four 
shots  every  five  minutes,  and  scoring  heavily. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  we  had  been  fighting 
when  part  of  our  range-finder  was  carried  away. 
It  was  so  hot,  though,  and  we  were  so  hard  at 
it  that  little  things  like  the  time  did  not  bother 
us.  It  is  hot  in  any  gun  turret,  but  I  have 
always  noticed  that  it  is  hotter  there  in  the 
Dardanelles  than  in  any  other  place.  The  sweat 
would  simply  cake  up  on  us,  until  our  faces  were 
just  covered  with  a  film  of  powdery  stuff. 

But  the  range-finder  was  carried  away,  and 
although  it  looked  bad  for  us,  I  was  feeling  so 
good  that  I  volunteered  to  go  on  deck  and  get 
another  one.  I  got  outside  the  turret  door  and 
across  the  deck,  got  the  necessary  parts-,  and  was 
coming  back  with  them,  when  I  received  two 
machine  gun  bullets  in  the  right  thigh.  One 
went  clear  through  bone  and  all  and  drilled  a 
hole  on  the  other  side,  while  the  other  came 
within  an  inch  of  going  through.  The  pecu- 
liar thing  is  that  these  two  were  in  a  line  above 
the  wound  I  got  at  Dixmude.  The  line  is  almost 
as  straight  as  you  could  draw  it  with  a  ruler. 

Of  course,  it  knocked  me  down,  and  I  hit  my 
head  a  pretty  hard  crack  on  the  steel  deck, 
but  I  was  able  to  crawl  on  to  the  turret  door. 
Just  as  I  was  about  to  enter  the  gun  was  fired. 
That  particular  charge  happened  to  be  defective. 
The  shell  split  and  caused  a  back  fire,  and  the 


Je  Suis  Blesse  189 

cordite,  fire  and  gas  came  through  the  breach 
which  the  explosion  had  opened. 

It  must  have  been  a  piece  of  cordite  which  did 
it,  but  whatever  it  was,  it  hit  me  in  the  right 
eye,  and  blinded  it.  The  ball  of  the  eye  was 
saved  by  the  French  surgeons  and  looks  normal, 
but  it  pains  me  greatly  sometimes,  and  they 
tell  me  it  will  always  be  sightless. 

I  was  unconscious  immediately  from  the  blow 
and  from  the  quantity  of  gas  which  I  must  have 
swallowed.  This  gas  did  me  a  great  deal  of 
damage,  and  gives  me  dizzy  spells  often,  to  this 
day.  I  do  not  know  whajb  happened  during  the 
rest  of  the  engagement,  as  I  did  not  regain  con- 
sciousness until  three  days  later,  at  sea.  But 
I  heard  in  the  hospital  that  the  French  super- 
dreadnaught  Jeanne  D'Arc,  and  the  light  cruiser 
Normandy  were  in  it  as  well  as  ourselves,  though 
not  at  the  time  I  was  wounded,  and  that  we  had 
all  been  pretty  well  battered.  The  Cassard  lost 
ninety-six  men  in  the  engagement  and  had  forty- 
eight  wounded.  Some  of  our  turrets  were  twisted 
into  all  manner  of  shapes,  and  part  of  our  bow 
was  carried  away.  One  of  our  lieutenants  was 
killed  in  the  engagement. 

I  was  told  that  both  the  Werft  and  the  Kaiser- 
liche  Marine  were  sunk  in  this  engagement.  I 
have  seen  pictures  of  sailors  from  the  Werft  who 
were  prisoners  at  internment  camps.* 

•Those  who  follow  the  progress  of  the  war  closely  will  not 
find  any  extended  account  of  Allied  naval  operations  in  the 
Mediterranean  between  the  date  of  the  British  evacuation  of 
Gallipoli  Peninsula  (January,  1916)  and  the  end  of  the  same 
year.  For  sufficient  reasons,  doubtless,  a  rigid  censorship  was 
in  effect  in  England  throughout  this  period.  It  is  not  generally 
known,  for  example,  that  the  French  held  strongly  fortified 


190  Grunner  Depew 

When  we  arrived  at  Brest,  the  wounded  were 
taken  from  the  ship  in  stretchers,  and  after  we 
had  been  rested  for  about  fifteen  minutes  on  the 
dock,  put  into  ambulances  and  rushed  to  the  hos- 
pital. On  the  way,  those  who  could  leaned  out 
of  the  ambulance  and  had  a  great  time  with  the 
people  along  the  streets,  many  of  whom  they 
knew,  for  the  Cassard  was  a  Brest  ship.  And, 
of  course,  the  women  and  children  yelled,  "  Vive 
la  France!  "  and  were  glad  to  see  the  boys  again, 
even  though  they  were  badly  done  up. 

Some  of  our  men  were  bandaged  all  over  the 
face  and  head,  and  it  was  funny  when  they  had 
to  tell  their  names  to  old  friends  of  theirs,  who 
did  not  recognize  them.  As  soon  as  one  of  the 
Brest  people  recognized  a  friend,  off  he  would 
go  to  get  cigarettes  and  other  things  for  him, 
and  some  of  them  almost  beat  us  to  the  hospital. 

While  we  were  going  into  the  hospital  there 
was  a  crowd  of  little  children  around  the  door, 
and  they  began  to  sing  the  "  Marseillaise,"  and 
very  loyal-hearted  little  kids  they  were,  too,  for 
they  evidently  knew  the  whole  song,  which  is 
more  than  can  be  said  for  most  Americans,  many 
of  whom  do  not  even  know  that  we  have  a 
national  anthem. 

It  seemed  like  a  palace  —  that  hospital.  The 
women  and  children  —  the  kindest  hearts  in  the 
world,  I  do  believe,  were  right  there  —  brought 

positions  on  the  Peninsula  long1  after  the  British  abandonment 
of  the  Dardanelles  expedition.  An  Allied  naval  patrol  was  also 
kept  up  to  prevent  the  establishment  of  submarine  bases  on 
the  Peninsula,  The  strategy  employed,  in  all  probability,  was 
to  keep  the  Turks  occupied,  so  as  to  prevent  interference  with 
Allied  operations  in  Saloniki  and  Egypt. — EDITOR'S  NOTE. 


Je  Suis  Blesse  191 

over  chairs  and  tables  and  cards  and  news- 
papers and  books  and  everything  you  could 
think  of,  and  they  brought  them  right  from  their 
own  living-rooms  and  not  from  the  attic,  where 
they  had  laid  since  they  had  become  listed  with 
the  casualties. 

We  had  a  fine  bunch  of  musicians  among  the 
men  —  most  of  them  could  blow  some  kind  of 
horn  or  other,  and  before  the  week  was  up 
almost  every  one  of  them  had  his  own  particular 
kind  of  torture-tube  placed  in  his  hands  as  he 
lay  in  bed.  They  would  hardly  stop  to  look  at 
it,  but  would  begin  blowing  away  for  all  they 
were  worth,  and  hardly  ever  did  they  give  a 
rap  what  the  rest  were  playing.  Once  in  a  while 
some  one  did  happen  to  play  the  same  tune  as 
another,  but  each  had  his  own  ideas  as  to  how 
it  should  be  played,  and  it  would  take  an  expert 
to  discover  they  were  the  same  tunes.  They  were 
sure  the  Agony  Quartette  —  four  or  five  quar- 
tettes, in  fact. 

We  also  had  a  phonograph,  but  very  few 
needles,  and  it  got  to  be  very  scratchy.  They 
had  one  American  record,  and  it  was  supposed 
to  be  a  special  treat  for  me;  some  well-meaning 
Frenchwoman  must  have  brought  it  as  soon  as 
she  heard  there  was  an  American  garby  there. 

I  never  was  crazy  about  that  song,  and  after 
they  had  played  it  a  few  times  I  used  to  throw 
everything  I  could  lay  my  hands  on  at  the  pho- 
nograph whenever  they  started  to  give  me  my 
great  treat  again.  There  was  one  French  orderly 
who  never  could  get  it  through  his  thick  head  — 


192  Gunner  Depew 

he  was  good  hearted,  though  —  that  I  did  not  like 
it,  and  he  would  play  it  time  after  time.  I 
guess  he  thought  it  cheered  me  up  so  much 
that  I  became  enthusiastic  and  wanted  to  throw 
things  because  I  was  glad.  The  name  of  the 
merry  little  ditty  was  "  Good-bye,  Good  Luck, 
God  Bless  You."  And  I  am  warning  whoever 
wrote  it,  right  here,  to  steer  clear  of  me  if  he 
wears  any  signs  on  himself  telling  that  he  did  it. 

The  hospital  held  about  1,800  patients  at  the 
time,  and  was  pretty  well  crowded,  but  every 
one  of  the  patients  received  the  best  of  food 
and  treatment,  and  some  of  the  stunts  that  the 
French  surgeons  did  were  really  wonderful.  As 
soon  as  they  were  able  to  learn,  the  perma- 
nently blinded  or  crippled  men  were  taught 
various  trades  that  their  misfortune  would  not 
interfere  with,  and  many  were  put  in  the  way 
of  earning  more  money  afterwards  than  they  had 
been  able  to  earn  before. 

I  do  not  know,  of  course,  just  what  the  sur- 
geons did  to  me,  but  I  heard  that  they  had  my 
eyeball  out  on  my  cheek  for  almost  two  hours. 
At  any  rate  they  saved  it.  The  thigh  wounds 
were  not  dangerous  in  themselves,  and  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  rough  treatment  they  got  later 
on  they  would  be  quite  healed  by  this  time,  I 
am  sure. 

I  really  think  I  got  a  little  extra  attention  in 
the  hospital,  in  many  ways,  for  the  French 
were  at  all  times  anxious  to  show  their  friend- 
liness to  America.  Every  time  my  meals  were 
served  there  was  a  little  American  flag  on  the 


Je  Suis  Blesse  193 

platter,  and  always  a  large  American  flag  draped 
over  the  bed.  I  had  everything  I  wanted  given 
to  me  at  once,  and  when  I  was  able  to,  all  the 
cigarettes  I  could  smoke,  which  were  not  many. 

While  I  was  still  in  bed  in  the  hospital  I 
received  the  Croix  de  Guerre,  which  I  had  won 
at  the  Dardanelles.  The  presentation  was  made 
by  Lieutenant  Barbey.  He  pinned  an  American 
flag  on  my  breast,  a  French  flag  beneath  it,  and 
beneath  that  the  War  Cross.  He  kissed  me  on 
both  cheeks,  of  course,  which  was  taking  advan- 
tage of  a  cripple.  But  it  is  the  usual  thing 
with  the  French,  as  you  know  —  I  mean  the 
kissing,  not  the  meanness  to  cripples. 

When  he  had  pinned  the  medal  on,  he  said  he 
thanked  me  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  for 
the  French  people,  and  also  thanked  all  the 
Americans  who  had  come  over  from  their  own 
land  to  help  a  country  with  which  most  of  them 
were  not  connected.  He  said  it  was  a  war  in 
which  many  nations  were  taking  part,  but  in 
which  there  were  just  two  ideas,  Freedom  and 
Despotism,  and  a  lot  more  things  that  I  can  not 
remember.  He  finished  by  saying  that  he  wished 
he  could  decorate  all  of  us. 

Of  course,  it  was  great  stuff  for  me,  and  I 
thought  I  was  the  real  thing  sure  enough,  but 
I  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  remark  I  have 
heard  here  in  the  States  —  "I  thank  you  and 
the  whole  family  thanks  you.'*  And  it  was  hard 
not  to  laugh.  Also,  it  seemed  funny  to  me, 
because  I  did  not  rightly  know  just  what  they 
were  giving  me  the  medal  for  —  though  it  was 


194  Gunner  Depew 

for  one  of  two  things  —  and  I  do  not  know  to 
this  day.  But  I  thought  it  would  not  be  polite 
to  ask,  so  I  let  it  go  at  that. 

There  were  twelve  other  naval  officers  who 
were  present,  and  they  and  all  the  other  people 
did  a  lot  of  cheering  and  vived  me  to  a  fare-you- 
well.  It  was  great  stuff,  altogether,  and  I  should 
have  liked  to  get  a  medal  every  day. 

One  day  I  received  a  letter  from  a  man  who 
had  been  in  my  company  in  the  Foreign  Legion 
and  with  whom  I  had  been  pretty  chummy.  His 
letter  was  partly  in  French  and  partly  in  Eng- 
lish. It  was  all  about  who  had  been  killed  and 
who  had  been  wounded.  He  also  mentioned 
Murray's  death,  which  he  had  heard  about,  and 
about  my  receiving  the  Croix  de  Guerre.  I  was 
wishing  he  had  said  something  about  Brown, 
whom  I  had  not  heard  from,  and  who  I  knew 
would  visit  me  if  he  had  the  chance. 

But  two  or  three  days  later  I  got  another 
letter  from  the  same  man,  and  when  I  opened 
it,  out  tumbled  a  photograph.  At  first  all  I 
saw  was  that  it  was  the  photograph  of  a  man 
crucified  with  bayonets,  but  when  I  looked  at  it 
closely  I  saw  it  was  Brown.  I  fainted  then,  just 
like  a  girl. 

When  I  came  to,  I  could  hardly  make  myself 
think  about  it.  Two  of  my  pals  gone!  It  hurt 
me  so  much  to  think  of  it  that  I  crushed  the 
letter  up  in  my  hand,  but  later  on  I  could  read 
parts  of  it.  It  said  they  had  found  Brown 
this  way  near  Dixmude  about  two  days  after  he 
had  been  reported  missing.  So  three  of  us  went 


Je  Suis  Blesse  195 

over,  and  two  stayed  there.  It  seems  very  strange 
to  me  that  both  of  my  pals  should  be  crucified, 
and  if  I  were  superstitious  I  do  not  know  what 
I  would  think  about  it.  It  made  me  sick  and 
kept  me  from  recovering  as  fast  as  I  would 
have  done  otherwise.  Both  Brown  and  Murray 
were  good  pals,  and  very  good  men  in  a  fight. 
I  often  think  of  them  both  and  about  the  things 
we  did  together,  but  lately  I  have  tried  not  to 
think  about  them  much,  because  it  is  very  sad 
to  think  what  torture  they  must  have  had  to 
stand.  They  were  both  of  great  credit  to  this 
country. 

The  American  consul  visited  me  quite  often, 
and  I  got  to  calling  him  Sherlock,  because  he 
asked  so  many  questions.  We  played  lots  of 
games  together,  mostly  with  dice,  and  had  a 
great  time  generally.  After  I  became  convales- 
cent he  argued  with  me  that  I  had  seen  enough, 
and  though  I  really  did  not  think  so  —  however 
much  I  disliked  what  I  had  seen  —  he  got  my 
discharge  from  the  service  on  account  of  physical 
inability  to  discharge  the  usual  duties.  After 
I  had  been  at  the  hospital  for  a  little  over  a 
month  I  was  discharged  from  it,  after  a  little 
party  in  my  ward  with  everyone  taking  part,  and 
all  the  horns  blowing,  and  all  the  records  except 
my  favorite  dirge  played  one  after  another. 

Sherlock  arranged  everything  for  me  —  my 
passage  to  New  York,  clothing,  and  so  forth. 
I  ran  up  to  St.  Nazaire  and  saw  my  grandmother, 
loafed  around  a  while,  and  also  visited  Lyons. 

I  met  a  girl  there  who  was  staying  with  some 


196  Gunner  Depew 

people  I  knew,  and  she  told  me,  a  little  bit  at 
a  time,  what  she  had  been  through.  I  do  not 
know  whether  she  was  a  Belgian  or  not,  but 
she  was  in  Belgium  at  the  outbreak  of  the  war. 
When  the  Germans  took  the  town  she  was  in 
they  put  up  signs  on  the  doors  notifying  the 
inhabitants  that  all  the  girls  must  report  in  the 
square  the  following  morning. 

This  girl  and  her  sister  reported  with  the  rest. 
They  were  divided  into  two  classes,  and  the 
class  in  which  the  two  sisters  were  was  told  to 
report  at  the  station  the  next  morning.  They 
went  home  and  broke  the  news  to  their  mother, 
who  was  quite  old  and  who  took  it  very  hard. 
They  had  no  idea  what  they  were  being  sent 
away  for.  The  mother  begged  permission  to 
keep  one  of  the  girls,  and  the  Germans  placed 
the  other  sister  in  the  class  that  was  to  stay. 

Three  girls  who  refused  to  go  were  dragged 
to  the  streets  and  killed  in  cold  blood,  and  the 
mother  of  one  girl,  who  refused  to  let  her  go, 
was  shot.  The  girls  were  drilled  to  the  court- 
yard of  a  big  hotel,  mustered  with  a  roll  call, 
and  loaded  into  cars.  After  a  nine-hour  jour- 
ney they  were  taken  from  the  trains  to  a  large 
building  partly  in  ruins  and  there  the  German 
soldiers  were  waiting  for  them.  The  girls  were 
not  given  food  or  fire. 

Late  that  night,  after  the  Germans  were 
through  with  them,  they  were  made  to  go  out- 
side and  dig  potatoes,  from  the  hard  ground, 
but  they  were  not  allowed  to  eat  any  of  the 
potatoes.  They  also  had  to  make  beds,  chop 


Je  Suis  Blesse  197 

wood,  haul  timber  and  do  all  the  dirty  work 
that  has  to  be  done  wherever  German  swine  are 
penned. 

They  were  not  allowed  to  write  to  their  people, 
nor  did  they  receive  any  word  from  outside. 
Fresh  batches  of  girls  arrived  from  time  to  time, 
but  they  were  not  allowed  to  mix  with  those  who 
had  been  there  before  them.  When  the  girls 
reached  such  a  condition  that  they  were  no  longer 
of  use  to  the  Germans  they  were  sent  back  to 
Belgium. 

The  girl  who  told  me  all  this  had  killed  her 
child,  as  all  of  them  did.  When  she  got  home 
she  found  her  mother  had  been  killed,  but  she 
never  saw  her  sister  again  nor  did  she  know 
what  had  become  of  her. 

After  a  short  time  I  returned  to  Brest,  and 
got  my  passage  on  the  Georgic  for  New  York. 
I  had  three  trunks  with  me  full  of  things  I  had 
picked  up  around  Europe  and  had  been  keep- 
ing with  my  grandmother.  Among  my  belong- 
ings were  several  things  I  should  like  to  show 
by  photographs  in  this  book,  but  no  one  but 
mermaids  can  see  them  now,  for  down  to  the 
locker  of  Davy  Jones  they  went. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
CAPTUEED  BY  THE  MOEWE 

When  the  tugs  had  cast  off,  and  after  a  while, 
we  had  dropped  our  pilot,  I  said  to  myself: 
"  Now  we  are  off,  and  it's  the  States  for  me  — 
end  of  the  line  —  far  as  we  go  —  IF  —  "  But 
the  "  if  "  did  not  look  very  big  to  me,  though 
I  could  see  it  with  the  naked  eye,  all  right. 

I  went  to  the  after  wheelhouse  and  took  a  slant 
at  the  compass,  which  read  west  by  northwest  by 
94  west.  I  chatted  a  while  with  the  boys  there, 
and  then  went  to  see  the  commissary  steward 
and  laid  in  a  supply  of  Capstan  and  Three  Castle 
cigarettes.  Heeled  with  these,  I  went  back  to  the 
after  forecastle  and  found  a  lot  of  firemen,  oilers 
and  wipers  who  were  off  watch.  I  played  poker 
for  cigarettes  with  these  fellows  until  the  game 
broke  up,  with  one  fireman  in  possession  of  all 
the  cigarettes.  After  that  I  went  to  my  state- 
room and  turned  in. 

The  following  morning  I  went  to  the  galley, 
and  after  a  hard  struggle  with  the  chef  got 
something  to  eat.  Then  came  boat  drill.  The 
siren  shrilled  three  times,  and  we  were  all 
stationed  at  the  boats,  which  were  swung  out  on 
the  davits.  We  carried  ten  life  boats,  five  on 
the  starboard  and  five  on  the  port. 

198 


Captured  by  the  Moewe  199 

When  the  siren  blew  the  second  time,  it  was 
a  sight  to  see  the  scramble  on  deck  for  the 
boats.  Some  one  yelled,  "  Submarine  on  the 
port  bow,"  and  all  the  little  fellows  were 
trampled  on,  and  one  lad  was  pushed  down  the 
fiddley  and  broke  his  leg.  I  made  up  my  mind 
then  and  there  that  if  we  should  happen  to  get 
torpedoed  it  was  me  for  a  hatch  cover  and  no 
life  boats  need  apply.  I  would  rather  take  my 
chances  with  a  match  for  a  buoy  than  in  a  rush 
for  the  boats  with  that  gang. 

It  was  rough  weather  those  first  two  days  out, 
and  it  was  raining  most  of  the  time.  I  would  not 
have  been  on  deck  at  all,  because  the  dampness 
made  my  legs  ache,  but  there  was  one  of  the 
gunners  at  the  stern  gun  that  was  good  for  a 
laugh  every  time  I  talked  to  him.  It  was  a 
shame  the  way  that  fellow  was  going  to  treat 
any  Germans  he  saw.  No  submarine  would  have 
a  minute's  chance  with  him;  he  would  put  salt 
on  any  boche  tail  in  sight.  I  took  it  all  in  and 
told  him  what  a  guy  for  gunpowder  he  was,  but 
after  a  while  I  got  tired  trying  not  to  laugh  in 
his  face  and  left  him. 

I  loafed  around  or  slept  all  day,  and  at  night 
started  back  to  the  after  forecastle  to  have 
another  go  at  cigarette  poker.  You  know,  of 
course,  that  ships  passing  through  the  war  zone 
cover  all  their  portholes,  allowing  no  lights  to 
show  whatsoever,  and  even  smoking  on  deck  is 
forbidden.  So  I  was  pretty  sore  when  I  .found 
the  fireman  had  their  portholes  wide  open,  and 
the  light  shining  through  like  a  search  light. 


200  Gunner  Depew 

I  bawled  them  out,  and  asked  them  whether 
they  thought  they  were  in  London  or  Germany, 
and  if  they  did  not  know  they  were  in  the  war 
zone.  Then  one  of  them  said,  "  War  zone  be 
damned.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  war  zone.'* 
We  had  a  little  argument,  and  after  a  while  they 
closed  the  portholes.  But  we  did  not  have  a 
poker  game. 

Then  I  got  an  envelope  and  paper  from  the 
steward,  and  went  to  my  stateroom  with  the 
intention  of  writing  a  letter  to  a  friend  and 
mailing  it  as  soon  as  I  arrived  at  an  Atlantic 
port.  But  a  Limey  knocked  on  the  door  just 
after  I  got  started,  and  he  talked  to  me  for  a 
long  time.  Finally  he  asked  me  what  I  was 
doing.  I  felt  like  telling  him  I  was  doing  nothing 
but  wishing  he  would  leave  me,  but  I  said  I  had 
been  going  to  write  a  letter  when  he  came  in. 
He  asked  me  where  I  was  going  to  mail  it,  and 
I  said  I  would  stop  the  mail  steamer  in  the 
morning.  And  I  think  he  believed  me! 

At  last  he  went  out,  and  I  turned  in  without 
writing  the  letter.  I  got  up  about  four  o'clock 
the  next  morning,  which  was  Sunday,  December 
10,  1916  —  a  date  I  do  not  think  I  will  ever 
forget. 

As  soon  as  I  was  dressed  I  went  down  to 
the  forecastle  peak  and  from  there  into  the 
paint  locker,  where  I  found  some  rope.  Then 
back  again  on  deck,  and  made  myself  a  ham- 
mock, which  I  rigged  up  on  the  boat  deck,  fig- 
uring that  I  would  have  a  nice  sun  bath,  as  the 
weather  had  at  last  turned  clear. 


Captured  by  the  Moewe  201 

As  soon  as  I  had  the  hammock  strung,  I  went 
down  to  the  baker  and  had  a  nice  chat  with  him 
—  and  stole  a  few  hot  buns,  which  was  what 
I  was  really  after  —  and  away  to  the  galley  for 
breakfast.  I  was  almost  exactly  amidships,  sit- 
ting on  an  old  orange  box.  I  had  not  been  there 
long  when  Old  Chips,  the  ship's  carpenter,  stuck 
his  head  in  the  door  and  sang  out,  "  Ship  on  the 
starboard  bow."  I  did  not  pay  any  attention 
to  him,  because  ships  on  the  starboard  bow  were 
no  novelty  to  me,  or  on  the  port  either.  Chips 
was  not  crazy  about  looking  at  her  either,  for 
he  came  in  and  sat  on  another  box  and  began 
scoffing.  He  said  he  thought  she  was  a  tramp, 
and  that  she  flew  the  British  flag  astern. 

I  ate  all  I  could  get  hold  of,  and  went  out  on 
deck.  I  stepped  out  of  the  galley  just  in  time 
to  see  the  fun.  The  ship  was  just  opposite  us, 
when  away  went  our  wireless  and  some  of  the 
boats  on  the  starboard  side,  and  then  boom! 
boom!  and  we  heard  the  report  of  the  guns.  I 
heard  the  shrapnel  whizzing  around  us  just  as 
I  had  many  a  time  before.  I  jumped  back  in 
the  galley,  and  Chips  and  the  cook  were  shaking 
so  hard  they  made  the  pans  rattle. 

When  the  firing  stopped  I  went  up  to  the  boat 
deck.  I  had  on  all  of  my  clothing,  but  instead  of 
shoes  I  was  wearing  a  pair  of  wooden  clogs. 
The  men  and  boys  were  crazy  —  rushing  around 
the  deck,  and  knocking  each  other  down,  and 
everybody  getting  in  everybody  else's  way.  We 
lowered  our  Jacob's  ladders,  but  some  of  the 


202  Gunner  Depew 

men  and  bays  were  already  in  the  water.  Why 
they  jumped  I  do  not  know. 

There  was  an  oiler  on  the  Georgic  named  Mal- 
len,  and  though  he  wore  glasses,  he  was  the 
toughest  bird  I  ever  saw.  He  had  been  almost 
stone  blind  for  a  year  and  a  half,  and  he  could 
hardly  see  at  all  without  his  glasses,  which  were 
thick  and  powerful.  He  was  on  the  boat  deck 
when  they  began  shelling  us,  and  it  was  a  miracle 
he  was  not  killed  at  once,  but  he  was  able  to 
hide  behind  a  funnel.  When  they  quit  firing, 
you  could  have  worn  that  funnel  for  a  peek-a- 
boo  waist,  but  Mallen  was  not  scratched.  I 
guess  he  was  so  tough  the  shrapnel  was  afraid 
of  him. 

When  he  was  going  down  the  Jacob's  ladder 
the  fellow  above  him  must  have  been  in  a  hurry, 
for  he  kicked  Mallen  in  the  face  and  broke  one 
of  the  lenses,  which  left  Mallen  with  a  monocle. 
He  held  it  up  in  front  of  one  eye  and  shut  the 
other  one,  and  that  was  the  only  way  he  could 
see  a  foot  in  front  of  him. 

Then  the  German  raider  Mo  ewe  headed  right 
in  towards  us,  and  I  thought  she  was  going  to 
ram  us,  but  she  backed  water  about  thirty  yards 
away.  She  lowered  a  life  boat,  and  it  made  for 
the  Georgic,  passing  our  men  in  the  water  as 
they  came  and  crashing  them  on  the  head  with 
boathooks  when  they  could  reach  them.  I  noticed 
that  there  were  red  kegs  in  the  German  boat. 

When  the  life  boat  reached  the  Jacob's  lad- 
ders I  went  over  to  the  port  side  of  the  Georgic, 


Captured  by  the  Moewe  203 

'and  then  the  Germans  came  over  the  side  and 
hoisted  up  the  kegs.  The  Germans  were  armed 
with  bayonets  and  revolvers.  Some  of  them  went 
down  into  the  engine  room  and  opened  the  sea 
cocks.  About  this  time  some  more  of  the  Limeys 
came  up  from  the  poop  deck,  and  I  told  them 
to  stay  where  I  was,  and  that  the  Germans 
would  take  us  over  in  life  boats.  Another  squad 
of  Germans  hoisted  eight  of  the  dynamite  kegs 
on  their  shoulders  and  down  into  Number  5  hold 
with  them. 

Meantime  the  Germans  saw  us  up  on  the  boat 
deck  and  came  up  after  us.  And  over  went  the 
Limeys.  But  I  waited,  and  one  or  two  more 
waited  with  me.  When  the  Germans  came  up  to 
us  they  had  their  revolvers  out  and  were  waving 
them  around  and  yelling,  "  Gott  strafe  Eng- 
land! '  and  talking  about  "  schweinhunde. " 
Then,  the  first  thing  I  knew,  I  was  kicked  off 
into  the  sea.  I  slipped  off  my  trousers  and  coat 
and  clogs,  and  believe  me,  it  was  not  a  case 
of  all  dressed  up  and  no  place  to  go! 

Then  I  swam  hard  and  caught  up  to  the  Limeys 
who  had  jumped  first.  They  were  asking  each 
other  if  they  were  downhearted  and  answering, 
11  Not  a  bit  of  it,  me  lads,"  and  trying  to  sing, 
"  Pack  up  your  troubles  in  your  old  kit  bag," 
only  they  could  not  do  much  singing  on  account 
of  the  waves  that  slipped  into  their  mouths  every 
time  they  opened  them.  That  was  just  like 
Limeys,  though.  They  will  carry  on,  to  use  a 
well-known  expression,  "  till  hell  freezes  over." 

Some  of  the  boys  were  just  climbing  up  the 


204  Gunner  Depew 

Jacob's  ladder  on  the  Moewe  when  the  old 
Georgic  let  out  an  awful  roar  and  up  went  the 
deck  and  the  hatches  high  in  the  air  in  splinters. 
One  fellow  let  go  his  hold  on  the  ladder  and 
went  down,  and  he  never  came  up.  The  Ger- 
mans were  making  for  the  Moewe  in  the  life 
boat,  and  we  reached  it  just  before  they  did. 
Up  the  ladder  we  went  and  over  the  side,  and 
the  first  thing  we  caught  sight  of  was  the  Ger- 
man revolvers  in  our  faces,  drilling  us  all  into 
line. 

The  life  boat  brought  back  the  ship's  papers 
from  the  Georgic  and  we  had  roll  call.  They 
kept  us  up  on  deck  in  our  wet  underwear,  and  it 
was  very  cold  indeed.  Then  the  first  mate  and 
the  Old  Man  and  one  of  the  German  officers 
called  off  the  names,  and  we  found  we  had  fifty 
missing. 

The  boche  commander  had  gall  enough  to  say 
to  our  Old  Man  that  he  was  not  there  to  kill 
men,  but  to  sink  all  ships  that  were  supplying 
the  Allies!  He  said  England  was  trying  to 
starve  Germany,  but  they  would  never  succeed, 
and  that  Germany  would  starve  the  Allies  very 
soon. 

After  roll  call  some  of  us  asked  the  Germans 
for  clothes,  or  at  least  a  place  to  dry  our- 
selves in,  but  Fritz  could  not  see  us  for  the 
dust  on  the  ocean,  and  we  just  had  to  stand 
there  and  shiver  till  we  shook  the  deck,  almost. 
Then  I  went  and  sat  down  on  the  pipes  that 
feed  the  deck  winches.  They  had  quite  a  head 
of  steam  in  them,  and  I  was  beginning  to  feel 


Captured  by  the  Moewe  205 

more  comfortable  when  I  got  a  good  clout  along 
side  of  the  head  for  sitting  there  and  trying 
to  keep  warm.  It  was  a  German  garby,  and 
he  started  calling  me  all  the  various  kinds  of 
schweinhunde  he  could  think  of,  and  he  could 
think  of  a  lot. 

Finally  they  mustered  us  all  on  another  part 
of  the  deck,  then  drilFed  us  down  into  the  fore- 
castle and  read  the  Martial  Law  of  Germany  to 
us.  At  least,  I  guess  that  is  what  it  was.  It 
might  have  been  the  "  Help  Wanted  —  Dog 
Catchers  "  column  from  the  Berlin  Lokal  Tag- 
gabble  for  all  most  of  us  knew  or  cared.  It 
shows  what  cards  the  Germans  are  —  reading 
all  those  four-to-the-pound  words  to  us  shiver- 
ing garbies,  who  did  not  give  a  dime  a  dozen 
whether  we  heard  them  or  not.  Fritz  is  like 
some  other  hot  sketches  —  he  is  funniest  when 
he  does  not  mean  to  be.  Every  German  is  a 
vaudeville  skit  when  he  acts  natural. 

There  were  hammocks  there,  and  we  jumped 
into  them  to  get  warm,  but  the  Germans  came 
down  with  their  revolvers  and  bayonets  and  took 
the  hammocks  away,  and  poured  water  on  the 
decks  and  told  us  to  sleep  there.  They  could  not 
have  done  a  worse  trick  than  that. 

Then  they  put  locks  on  the  portholes,  and 
told  us  that  anyone  caught  fiddling  with  the  locks 
would  be  shot  at  once.  This  was  because  we 
might  sight  a  British  or  French  man-of-war  at 
any  time,  and  as  the  Moewe  was  sailing  under 
the  British  flag  and  trying  to  keep  out  of  trouble, 
they  did  not  want  us  at  the  ports  signaling  our 


206  Gunner  Depew 

own  warships  for  help.  If  they  had  bucked  any 
of  the  Allied  ships  and  had  a  fight,  we  would 
have  died  down  there  like  rats. 

The  Moewe  had  already  captured  the  Voltaire, 
Mount  Temple,  Cambrian  Range  and  the  King 
George,  and  had  the  crews  of  these  vessels 
between  decks  with  us.  These  men  told  us 
how  the  Germans  were  treating  them,  and  it 
looked  to  me  as  though  the  evening  would  be 
spent  in  playing  games  and  a  pleasant  time 
would  be  had  by  all  —  not. 

The  crew  of  the  Mount  Temple  were  on  deck 
working  when  the  raider  suddenly  opened  fire 
on  them.  Two  or  three  men  jumped  into  the 
water,  and  the  Germans  turned  a  gun  on  them 
while  they  were  swimming  and  killed  them. 
That  was  just  a  sample  of  what  had  happened 
to  them. 

The  men  now  began  running  up  and  down 
in  a  line  to  keep  warm,  but  I  took  a  little  run 
on  my  own  hook  and  treated  myself  to  as  much 
of  a  once-over  of  the  ship  as  I  could.  I  do  not 
believe  the  Moewe  had  more  than  a  %-inch 
armor  plate,  but  behind  that  she  had  three  rows 
of  pig  iron,  which  made  about  a  foot  in  thick- 
ness. There  was  nothing  but  cable  strung  along 
the  deck,  and  when  I  saw  that  I  would  have  given 
anything  to  have  had  a  crack  at  her  with  a  14- 
inch  naval.  And  I  sure  wished  hard  enough 
that  one  of  our  ships  would  slip  up  on  us, 
whether  we  were  caught  between  decks  or  not. 
I  went  aft  as  far  as  the  sentry  would  let  me, 
and  I  saw  that  she  had  three  spare  6-inch  guns 


PJ-AH    or  TUB 


AFT 

(Drawn  from  memory.) 

A.  Armor  plate  drops,  placing  6-inch  guns. 

B.  Forecastle  peak.  F.  Poop  deck. 

C.  Ammunition  hold.  G.  Aft  wheelhouse. 

D.  Torpedo  tubes  rails.  H.  Deck  house. 
B.  Torpedo  tubes.  J.  Holds. 

K.  Disappearing  guns  aft,  mounted  on  elevator.     L.  Sea  gates. 


Captured  by  the  Moewe  209 

under  the  poop  deck  and  two  6-inch  pieces 
mounted  astern.  The  guns  were  mounted  on  an 
elevator,  and  when  the  time  came  they  ran  the 
elevator  up  until  the  guns  were  on  a  level  with 
the  poop  deck,  but  otherwise  they  were  out  of 
sight  from  other  ships. 

The  boys  from  the  other  ships  told  us  that 
when  the  Moewe  fired,  it  was  a  case  for  prayers, 
because  she  trembled  like  a  leaf.  Besides,  they 
never  knew  what  she  was  battling  with,  and  I 
know  myself  that  it  is  an  awful  sensation  down 
there  between  decks  figuring  that  any  moment 
your  ship  will  be  hit  amidships  and  the  whole 
bunch  of  you  sent  West. 

They  said  that  when  the  Moewe  was  about  to 
go  into  action  there  would  be  a  lot  of  yelling 
and  running  around  on  deck,  and  the  Huns  would 
lay  below  with  their  revolvers  and  bayonets  or 
cutlasses  and  bulldoze  the  whole  lot,  shouting 
and  poking  with  the  bayonets.  They  used  to 
come  down  every  so  often  and  shout  the  schwewir- 
hund  code  at  us  and  kick  us  and  shove  us  around 
like  cattle. 

For  our  first  meal  they  slung  a  big  feed  bag 
half  full  of  ship  biscuit  —  hardtack  —  to  us  and 
some  dixies  of  tea.  After  this  festival  we  began 
roaming  up  and  down  the  deck  again,  because 
it  was  the  only  way  to  keep  warm.  I  guess  we 
looked  like  some  of  the  advertisements  in  mag- 
azines, wfyere  they  show  a  whole  family  sitting 
around  a  Christmas  tree  in  their  underwear 
and  telling  each  other  that  Whosis  Unions  — 
The  Roomy  Kind  —  were  just  what  they  wanted 


210  Gunner  Depew 

from  Santy.  Only  we  did  not  have  any  Christ- 
mas tree  to  sit  around.  We  must  have  looked 
funny,  though,  and  I  would  have  had  a  good 
laugh  if  I  had  not  been  so  cold. 

We  could  not  go  to  sleep  because  the  decks 
were  wet,  nor  could  we  sit  down  with  any  com- 
fort for  the  same  reason.  Besides,  we  thouarht 
we  might  buck  up  against  a  British  or  a  French 
cruiser  at  any  minute,  and  most  of  us  thought 
we  would  stay  up  and  get  an  eye  full  before  we 
started  for  Davy's  well-known  locker. 

About  two  bells  the  following  morning  the 
Moewe's  engines  began  to  groan  and  shake  her 
up  a  bit,  and  we  could  hear  the  blades  jump 
out  of  the  water  every  once  in  a  while  and  tear 
away.  She  went  ahead  in  this  way  for  some 
time,  and  we  were  hoping  she  was  trying  to  get 
away  from  a  cruiser,  and  some  of  us  were  pull- 
ing for  the  cruiser  to  win  and  others  hoping  the 
Mo  ewe  would  get  her  heels  clear  and  keep  us 
from  getting  ours. 

The  Huns  were  running  up  and  down  the  deck 
yelling  like  wild  men,  and  one  of  our  men  began 
to  yell  too.  He  was  delirious,  and  after  he 
yelled  a  bit,  he  jumped  up  and  made  a  pass  at 
the  sentry,  who  shot  at  him  but  missed.  The 
shot  missed  me,  too,  but  not  very  much.  Then 
they  dragged  the  delirious  man  up  on  deck,  and 
Lord  knows  what  they  did  with  him,  because  we 
never  saw  him  again.  But  we  did  not  hear  any 
sound  that  they  might  have  made  in  shooting 
him. 

Then  the  Huns  began  shelling,  and  they  kept 


Captured  by  the  Moewe  211 

it  up  for  some  time.  About  the  time  the  firing 
quit,  this  man  Mallen  —  the  chap  who  had  his 
glasses  broken  —  was  walking  up  and  down  the 
deck  holding  the  one  lens  to  his  eye,  when  he 
bumped  up  against  a  sentry  on  his  blind  side. 
The  sentry  began  to  smash  him  all  over  the 
deck.  He  knocked  him  down  several  times,  and 
split  his  lip  for  about  four  inches  with  the  butt 
of  his  revolver.  The  rest  of  us  were  just  aching 
to  lay  our  hands  on  the  sentry,  but  the  other 
sentries  warned  us  off  with  their  revolvers,  and 
one  of  them  clipped  me  in  the  head  with  the  hilt 
of  his  bayonet  when  I  started  forward. 

When  we  picked  Mallen  up  he  had  lost  his 
monocle  and  was  as  blind  as  a  bat,  but  as  tough 
as  ever.  In  a  minute  or  two  one  of  the  men 
came  up  with  his  monocle.  He  had  found  it 
far  away  from  where  Mallen  had  been,  and 
there  was  not  so  much  as  a  scratch  on  the  lens. 
Mallen  was  sure  glad  to  get  it.  Part  of  the  gold 
band  that  fitted  over  the  nose  was  still  on  it, 
so  we  broke  this  off  and  rubbed  it  until  the  edge 
was  smooth  as  the  gold  rim,  and  to  cheer  Mal- 
len up  a  bit  I  told  him  about  the  Limey  officer 
at  "  V  "  Beach  who  had  twibbled  his  monocle 
in  the  air  and  caught  it  in  his  other  eye.  Mal- 
len said  he  would  learn  to  do  that  if  it  took  him 
a  hundred  years.  He  started  to  practice  right 
away.  Anyone  else  would  have  held  on  to  the 
lens  and  not  monkeyed  with  it,  but  that  was  not 
Mallen.  He  was  throwing  the  glass  into  the  air 
all  the  time  and  trying  to  catch  it  in  his  eye, 
when  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  hold  it  there  like 


212  Gunner  Depew 

/ 

a  monocle.  I  have  seen  him  twibble  it  and  let 
it  drop  a  dozen  times,  and  yet  it  never  broke. 

Then  the  Huns  ordered  us  up  on  deck  to  see 
the  ship  they  had  been  firing  at,  and  when  we 
came  up  the  companion  way  they  were  just  bring- 
ing the  other  ship's  skipper  aboard.  It  was  the 
French  collier  St.  Theodore,  hove  to  off  the 
starboard  side  with  a  prize  crew  from  the  Moewe 
aboard  and  wigwagging  to  the  raider. 

I  looked  around  while  we  were  taking  the  air 
and  shivering,  and  I  never  saw  a  stronger  watch 
than  they  were  standing  on  the  Moewe.  There 
were  two  men  up  forward  on  the  forecastle  peak, 
one  on  the  starboard  and  one  on  the  port  bow, 
one  up  in  the  crow's  nest,  about  twelve  on  the 
bridge  and  four  on  the  poop  deck.  I  do  not 
believe  that  gang  could  miss  a  splinter  in  the 
water,  and  every  one  of  them  had  binoculars. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  on  deck  but  the 
torpedo  tubes  up  against  the  sea  gates,  with  tar- 
paulins over  them,  and  piles  of  life  belts  thrown 
on  top  of  the  hatches.  On  the  bridge  they  had 
wicker  baskets  with  carrier  pigeons  in  them,  and 
near  the  funnels  they  had  live  stock  —  a  cow, 
pigs,  dogs  and  chickens  —  all  caged  in. 

Then  the  Huns  began  shouting,  and  they 
rousted  us  below  deck  again.  The  place  where 
we  had  been  was  filled  with  smoke,  from  what  or 
why  I  do  not  know,  but  it  was  almost  impos- 
sible to  breathe  in  it.  When  the  smoke  cleared 
up  a  bit  the  Marathon  started  again,  for  we 
were  still  in  our  underwear  only.  One  of  the 
boys  had  asked  Fritz  for  clothing,  and  Fritz 


Captured  by  the  Moewe  213 

said  the  English  had  tough  enough  skins  and  they 
did  not  need  clothing.  Then  he  said:  "  Wait 
until  you  see  what  our  German  winters  are  like. ' ' 

The  following  morning  the  engines  began  to 
tear  away  again,  and  the  guns  started  firing. 
After  a  while  the  firing  stopped  and  the  engines 
too,  and  after  about  an  hour  they  had  the  Old 
Man  of  the  Yarrowdale  aboard.  She  was  a 
British  ship  chartered  by  the  French  and  bound 
for  Brest  and  Liverpool  with  a  very  valuable 
cargo  aboard  —  aeroplanes,  ammunition,  food  and 
automobiles. 

When  they  rousted  us  on  deck  again,  the 
St.  Theodore  was  still  in  sight,  but  she  had  the 
Yarrowdale  for  company.  Both  were  trailing 
behind  us  and  keeping  pretty  close  on.  While  we 
were  on  deck  we  saw  the  German  sailors  at  work 
on  the  main  deck  making  about  ten  rafts,  and 
when  they  began  to  place  tins  of  hardtack  on  the 
rafts,  a  tin  to  each,  we  imagined  they  were 
going  to  heave  us  over  the  side  and  let  us  go  on 
the  rafts.  But  instead,  they  began  telling  us 
we  would  land  in  the  States,  and  then  they 
rousted  us  between  decks  again. 

We  had  only  been  there  a  short  time  when 
some  of  the  German  officers  came  down  and 
asked  if  any  of  the  men  would  volunteer  to  go 
firing  on  the  Yarrowdale,  and  we  almost  mobbed 
them  to  take  us.  They  began  putting  down  the 
names  of  the  men  who  were  to  go,  and  I  talked 
them  into  putting  mine  down  too.  Then  I  felt 
about  five  hundred  pounds  lighter. 

Five  o'clock  came,  and  by  that  time  I  had  for- 


214  Gunner  Depew 

gotten  to  do  any  worrying.  We  received  our 
usual  rations,  and  most  of  us  who  had  volun- 
teered figured  that  we  would  receive  clothes  and 
shoes.  In  the  morning  an  officer  came  down 
below  and  read  out  the  names  of  those  who  were 
to  go,  and  I  felt  even  lighter  when  he  called  mine. 
We  were  each  given  a  life  belt  and  mustered 
on  deck. 

There  was  a  moving  picture  machine  on  the 
boat  deck,  and  as  we  came  up  the  hatchway  the 
operator  began  turning  the  handle.  I  was  whis- 
tling, "  Hello  Hawaii,  How  Are  You?  "  and  one 
of  the  sentries  said  to  me  in  English:  "  That's 
all  Americans  are  good  for  anyway."  Then  he 
started  to  whistle,  "  Good  Bye,  My  Blue  Bell, 
Farewell  to  You."  He  said  some  more  then, 
to  the  effect  that  we  Americans  had  very  little 
on  our  minds  and,  generally  speaking,  were  not 
responsible.  I  never  was  guilty  before,  and  never 
have  been  since,  but  I  must  confess  that  at 
this  moment  I  made  up  some  poetry.  It  came 
to  me  just  as  easy  as  if  I  had  been  in  the  busi- 
ness, and  I  said  to  him:  "  We  can  smile  when 
we  fight,  and  whistle  when  we're  right,  and 
knock  the  Kaiser  out  of  sight. ' '  They  were  shov- 
ing us  over  the  side  and  down  the  Jacob's  lad- 
der, and  this  lad  took  hold  of  me  where  my  collar 
would  have  been,  if  I  had  one,  and  gave  me  a 
boost  that  brought  me  up  against  the  rail  before 
my  turn. 

The  sea  was  pretty  nasty,  and  some  of  the  men 
had  narrow  escapes  from  falling  between  the 
Mo  ewe  and  the  life  boats  when  the  swells  rocked 


Captured  by  the  Moewe  215 

us.  One  man  fell  from  the  ladder  and  broke 
his  neck  on  the  gunwale  of  the  life  boat.  They 
took  over  boat  after  boat  to  the  Yarrowdale 
until,  finally,  we  were  all  there.  Then  they  mus- 
tered us  on  deck  and  warned  us  not  to  start 
anything,  because  they  had  a  time  bomb  in  the 
engine  room  and  two  on  the  bridge.  Meantime 
they  had  brought  over  several  boatloads  of  hard 
tack,  and  we  threw  it  into  No.  3  hold.  This 
was  to  be  our  food  for  some  time. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
LANDED  IN  GERMANY 

They  had  a  coolie  crew  on  the  Yarrowdale, 
and  when  they  routed  them  on  deck,  the  coolies 
began  to  pray,  and  though  it  is  nothing  to  laugh 
at,  I  could  not  help  but  chuckle  at  the  way  some 
of  them  went  about  talking  to  their  various  gods. 
They  were  beginning  to  smell  danger  and  were 
pretty  nervous.  Every  one  of  the  coolies  had 
a  cane  and  a  pair  of  palm  beach  trousers.  The 
Huns  were  loading  them  in  the  life  boats  to  be 
taken  back  to  the  Moewe  with  their  sea  bags, 
.and  one  of  them  got  too  nervous  and  was  slow 
about  getting  into  the  life  boat,  so  the  Germans 
shot  him  without  saying  a  word. 

Then  the  Germans  called  out  the  names  of 
those  who  had  volunteered  to  go  stoking,  and 
this  included  me.  We  were  drilled  down  the 
fiddley  into  the  fire  room.  The  fiddley  is  a  shaft 
that  runs  from  the  main  deck  of  a  ship  to  the 
engine  room.  I  looked  around  a  bit  and  saw  a 
German  standing  not  very  far  from  the  fiddley, 
so  I  asked  him  if  we  would  be  given  shoes.  He 
said  no.  Then  I  asked  him  if  we  had  to  fire  in 
our  bare  feet  and  he  said  yes  —  that  we  did  not 
need  shoes.  Then  he  went  into  the  engine  room. 

I    looked    at    the    narrow    passage    he    went 

216 


Landed  in  Germany  217 

through,  and  at  the  narrow  passage  of  the  fiddley 
to  the  main  deck,  and  I  talked  to  iny  feet  like 
I  used  to  at  Dixmude.  I  said:  "  Feet,  do  your 
duty."  They  did  it  and  I  flew  up  the  fiddley. 
I  never  wanted  to  see  that  stoke  hole  again. 

I  sneaked  up  to  where  the  rest  of  the  fellows 
were  and  the  guards  drilled  us  into  No.  4  hold. 
There  was  nothing  but  ammunition  in  it.  They 
battened  the  hatches  down  on  us,  which  made 
the  hold  waterproof.  And  as  that  made  it  prac- 
tically air-tight,  the  only  air  the  five  hundred 
and  eighty  of  us  got  was  through  the  ventilators. 
That  hold  was  certainly  foul. 

The  next  day  some  of  the  men  had  got  cig- 
arettes somewhere.  Lord  knows  how  they  did 
it,  but  Mallen  had  quite  a  lot  of  them  and  he 
passed  them  around.  Some  of  the  men  would 
not  take  any  of  his  because  they  said  they  had 
some  of  their  own,  and  sure  enough,  in  a  few 
minutes  they,  as  well  as  the  rest,  had  lit  up  and 
were  puffing  away  in  great  style.  I  divided  a 
cigarette  with  another  fellow.  Remember,  we 
were  sitting  and  standing  on  ammunition  all  this 
time.  It  shows  how  much  we  cared  whether 
school  kept  or  not. 

The  Germans  saw  the  smoke  coming  out  of  the 
ventilators  and  they  were  crazy  with  fright.  A 
gang  of  them  laid  below  and  rousted  us  out  with 
whips.  Mallen  and  I  were  toward  the  head  of 
the  line  going  up  the  ladder,  and  Mallen  was 
swearing  because  he  had  just  lost  his  monocle 
and  could  hardly  see  a  foot  in  front  of  him.  He 
said  a  sentry  had  tripped  him  or  knocked  him 


218  Gunner  Depew 

down,  and  that  when  he  got  up  his  monocle  was 
gone. 

They  lined  us  up  on  deck  and  read  us  the  riot 
act.  As  we  stood  there  I  could  see  one  man 
after  another  put  his  hands  behind  his  back  and 
then  bring  them  to  the  front  again.  Finally,  the 
man  next  to  me  nudged  me  with  his  elbow.  I 
put  my  hands  behind  my  back  and  he  slipped 
something  into  them,  and  I  passed  it  to  the  next 
man.  Then  the  first  thing  I  knew  there  was 
Mallen  with  his  monocle  in  his  eye  again.  Some- 
body had  found  it  and  brought  it  up  with  him, 
and  we  had  passed  >it  along  almost  the  whole 
line  before  it  got  to  Mallen. 

They  drilled  us  down  into  the  coal  bunkers. 
It  was  simply  hell  there.  Coal  dust  to  breathe 
and  eat  and  sleep  on,  only  we  could  not  sleep 
because  we  had  to  use  the  coal  bunkers  for  all 
purposes,  including  that  of  the  toilet,  and  after 
a  short  time  not  one  of  us  could  sleep. 

Also,  by  this  time,  some  of  the  men  had  lost 
their  heads  completely ;  in  fact,  had  gone  violently 
crazy,  and  the  rest  of  us  were  afraid  of  them. 
We  were  all  thinking  of  the  fight  that  might 
occur  any  moment  between  the  Yarrowdale  and 
some  other  vessel,  and  we  knew  we  were  in  the 
likeliest  place  for  the  vessel  to  be  struck.  Even 
though  we  were  not  hit  amidships,  if  the  ship 
were  sinking,  we  did  not  think  the  Germans 
would  give  us  a  chance  to  escape.  We  figured 
from  what  they  had  said  that  we  would  go  down 
with  the  ship.  And  going  down  on  a  ship  in 
which  you  are  a  prisoner  is  quite  different  from 


Landed  in  Germany  219 

going  down  with  one  for  which  you  have  been 
fighting.  You  arrive  at  the  same  place,  but  the 
feeling  is  different. 

Some  of  us  thought  of  overpowering  the  crew 
and  taking  the  vessel  into  our  own  hands,  and 
we  got  the  rest  of  the  sane  or  nearly  sane  men 
together  and  tried  to  get  up  a  scheme  for  doing 
it.  I  was  strong  for  the  plan  and  so  were  Mal- 
len  and  several  others,  but  the  Limey  officers 
who  were  with  us  advised  against  it.  They  said 
the  Germans  were  taking  us  to  a  neutral  coun- 
try, where  we  would  be  interned,  which  was  just 
what  the  Germans  had  told  us,  but  what  few  of 
us  believed. 

Then  some  others  said  that  if  we  started  any- 
thing the  Germans  would  fire  the  time  bombs. 
We  replied  that  at  least  the  Germans  would  go 
West  with  us,  but  they  could  not  see  that  there 
was  any  glory  in  that.  For  myself,  I  thought 
the  Germans  would  not  fire  the  bombs  until  the 
last  minute,  and  that  we  would  have  a  chance 
at  the  boats  before  they  got  all  of  us  anyway. 
Old  Mallen  put  up  quite  a  talk  about  it,  and  it 
was  funny  to  see  him  sitting  there  on  the  coal 
with  his  monocle  slipping  out  of  his  eye  every 
once  in  a  while,  arguing  that  we  would  all  have 
an  equal  chance  of  getting  away,  even  if  many 
of  us  did  go  West.  There  were  only  thirteen 
German  sailors  on  board,  besides  their  com- 
mander. This  last  Hun  was  named  Badewitz. 

So  the  pacifists  ruled,  because  we  could  not  do 
anything  unless  we  were  all  together,  and  there 
was  no  mutiny.  They  said  we  were  hotheads, 


220  Gunner  Depew 

the  rest  of  us,  but  I  still  think  we  could  have 
made  a  dash  for  it  and  overpowered  our  sentries, 
and  either  gone  over  the  side  with  the  life  boats, 
or  taken  over  the  whole  ship.  It  would  have 
been  better  for  us  if  we  had  tried,  and  if  the 
pacifists  had  known  what  was  coming  to  us  they 
would  have  fired  the  time  bombs  themselves 
rather  than  go  on  into  that  future.  However, 
that  is  spilt  milk. 

We  were  not  allowed  to  open  the  portholes 
while  we  were  in  the  bunkers,  under  penalty  of 
death,  and  there  in  the  dark,  in  that  stinking 
air,  it  is  no  wonder  many  of  us  went  crazy. 
Among  us  was  a  fellow  named  Harrington, 
about  six  feet  tall  and  weighing  around  250 
pounds.  He  seemed  to  be  all  right  mentally, 
but  some  of  us  thought  afterwards  he  was  crazy. 
Anyway,  I  do  not  blame  him  for  what  he  did. 
Harrington  rushed  up  the  fiddley  and  opened 
the  door.  There  was  a  German  sentry  there, 
and  Harrington  made  a  swing  at  him  and  then 
grabbed  his  bayonet.  The  sentry  yelled  and  some 
others  came  down  from  the  bridge  and  shot  Har- 
rington through  the  hand.  After  they  had  beaten 
Harrington  pretty  badly,  the  bull  of  the  bunch, 
Badewitz  himself,  came  over  and  hammered  Har- 
rington all  around  the  deck.  Then  they  put  him 
in  irons  and  took  him  to  the  chart  room. 

The  next  day  we  were  sitting  in  the  fiddley 
getting  warm  when  the  door  opened  and  there 
was  Badewitz.  He  yelled  "  Heraus!  "  and  began 
firing  at  us  with  a  revolver,  so  we  beat  it  back 
onto  the  coal.  The  others  would  not  go  back 


Landed  in  Germany  221 

after  this,  but  Mallen  and  I  did.  We  had  sat 
there  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour  when  Mal- 
len lost  his  monocle.  It  fell  all  the  way  down 
to  the  stoke  hole,  and  I  thought  for  sure  it  was 
gone  this  time,  and  so  did  Mallen.  Badewitz 
poked  his  ugly  face  in  the  door  again,  but  we 
were  too  quick  for  him  and  he  did  not  catch 
us.  I  had  to  shove  Mallen  over  though,  because 
he  could  not  see. 

Then  the  first  thing  we  knew,  back  came  the 
monocle.  One  of  the  stokers  had  found  it  on 
his  scoop  just  as  he  was  about  to  swing  the 
scoopful  into  the  fire  door,  and  there  it  was, 
still  unbroken.  Mallen  was  so  glad  he  almost 
went  crazy,  too. 

Pretty  soon  the  door  opened  again,  and  Mal- 
len gave  me  his  monocle  and  ran  into  the  fur- 
thermost corner  of  the  bunkers,  because  he 
thought  it  was  Badewitz  come  to  shoot  at  us 
again,  and  he  was  afraid  he  would  lose  his 
eye-glass.  But  it  was  only  a  German  sentry. 
He  threw  down  a  note.  It  was  written  in  Eng- 
lish and  read,  "  Pick  out  eight  men  for  cooks.'* 
So  we  picked  out  eight  men  from  the  various 
vessels,  and  they  went  on  deck  and  rigged  up  a 
galley  aft. 

But  we  did  not  receive  any  knives,  forks, 
spoons  or  plates.  The  first  meal  we  got  was 
nothing  but  macaroni,  piled  up  on  pieces  of 
cardboard  boxes.  Then  we  appointed  four  men 
to  serve  the  macaroni,  and  they  got  four  pieces 
of  wood,  the  cleanest  we  could  find,  which  was 
not  very  clean  at  that,  and  they  dug  around  in 


222  Gunner  Depew 

the  macaroni  and  divided  it  up  and  put  it  in  our 
hands.  We  had  to  eat  it  after  that  from  our 
grimy  fingers.  Those  who  were  helped  first  had 
to  go  farthest  back  on  the  coal  to  eat  it,  and 
those  who  were  helped  last  got  less,  because  the 
dividers  got  more  careful  toward  the  end  and 
gave  smaller  portions. 

But  we  did  not  get  macaroni  very  long.  A  cook 
from  the  Voltaire  was  cleaning  a  copper  dixie 
that  the  macaroni  had  been  cooked  in,  and  he 
was  holding  it  over  the  side  when  the  vessel 
rolled  heavily,  and  dropped  the  dixie  into  the 
drink.  A  sentry  who  saw  him  drop  it  forced  him 
up  to  Badewitz,  who  began  mauling  him  before 
the  sentry  even  had  told  his  story.  After  a  while 
Badewitz  quit  pounding  the  cook,  and  listened 
to  the  sentry.  Then  Badewitz  said  the  cook  had 
put  a  note  in  the  dixie  before  he  dropped  it,  so 
they  beat  him  up  again  and  put  him  in  irons. 
After  that  they  sent  the  rest  of  the  cooks  back, 
and  would  not  let  them  up  on  deck  again.  They 
had  plenty  of  canned  goods  and  meat  aboard, 
but  they  would  not  give  us  any. 

Five  of  the  men  were  buried  at  sea  that  day. 
More  men  were  going  mad  every  minute,  and 
it  was  a  terrible  place;  pitch  dark,  grimy,  loose 
coal  underfoot,  coal-dusty  air  to  breathe,  body- 
filth  everywhere.  Some  of  the  crazy  men  howled 
like  dogs.  But  we  were  not  as  much  afraid  of 
these  as  we  were  of  the  others  who  kept  still, 
but  slipped  around  in  the  dark  with  lumps  of 
coal  in  their  hands.  We  got  so  we  would  not 
go  near  each  other  for  fear  we  were  running 


Landed  in  Germany  223 

into  a  crazy  man.  Those  of  us  who  were  sane 
collected  as  near  the  fiddley  as  we  could,  and  we 
would  not  let  the  others  get  near  us,  but  shoved 
them  back  or  shied  lumps  of  coal  at  them.  And 
every  once  in  a  while  some  one  of  us  would  begin 
to  act  queer.  Maybe  he  would  let  out  a  howl 
suddenly,  without  any  warning.  Or  he  would 
just  quit  talking  and  begin  to  sneak  around.  Or 
he  would  squat  down  and  begin  to  mumble.  We 
could  not  tell  just  when  a  man  had  begun 
to  lose  his  mind.  He  would  seem  just  like  the 
rest  of  us,  because  none  of  us  was  much  better 
than  a  beast. 

We  could  not  take  turns  sleeping  and  stand- 
ing watch  against  the  crazy  men,  because  when 
we  talked  about  it,  we  agreed  that  none  of  us 
could  tell  whether  or  not  the  sentries  would  go 
crazy  while  on  watch  and  have  the  rest  of  us  at 
their  mercy.  It  was  awful  to  talk  about  going 
crazy  in  this  way,  and  to  figure  that  you  your- 
self might  be  the  next,  and  that  it  was  almost 
sure  to  happen  if  you  did  not  get  some  sleep 
soon.  But  it  was  worse  to  find  a  man  near 
you  going,  and  have  to  boot  him  out  with  the 
other  insane  men. 

I  began  talking  with  Mallen  about  what  would 
happen  if  there  were  more  lunatics  than  sane 
men,  and  he  said  then  the  sane  men  would  be 
the  crazy  ones,  because  he  said  the  only  thing 
that  makes  one  man  sane  is  that  there  are  more 
like  him  than  there  are  insane  men.  He  said 
whichever  kind  was  in  the  majority  was  the  nor- 
mal or  sane  kind,  it  did  not  make  any  difference 


224  Gunner  Depew 

which.  It  began  to  get  too  deep  for  me,  so  I 
quit  arguing.  But  Mallen  kept  it  up  until  I 
told  him  it  looked  like  he  was  going,  too,  and 
then  he  shut  up.  I  think  it  was  not  good  for  us 
to  talk  or  think  much  about  it,  or  we  would  have 
gone,  too. 

That  night  two  of  the  garbies  got  out  of  the  fid- 
dley,  somehow,  into  No.  3  hold,  and  brought 
back  some  bologna  and  leaf  tobacco.  I  got  hold 
of  quite  a  bit  of  the  leaves,  rolled  them,  dampened 
the  roll,  corded  it  and  let  it  dry.  Two  days  later 
I  had  a  fine  twist,  hard  as  a  bullet.  That  is  a 
trick  I  had  picked  up  from  the  Limeys.  If  the 
Germans  knew  we  had  got  hold  of  this  stuff 
they  would  have  strung  us  up,  I  am  sure. 

The  days  passed  like  that,  with  nothing  to  do 
but  suffer,  and  starve  and  freeze.  It  got  colder 
and  colder,  and  all  we  could  wrap  ourselves  in 
was  the  coal.  We  began  to  speculate  on  where 
we  were.  It  was  not  till  later  that  an  old 
skipper  in  our  bunch  told  us  that  we  had  rounded 
the  .northern  coast  of  Iceland. 

Every  once  in  a  while  some  of  our  men 
in  the  fiddley  would  shout,  "  British  cruiser 
on  the  horizon !  '  >  and  we  would  shake  like  leaves, 
and  sing  and  dance  around,  and  shout  ourselves 
hoarse,  until  the  Germans  had  to  shoot  down 
on  us  to  make  us  quit.  But  no  cruiser  ever  came. 
It  seemed  like  months  when  only  days  passed. 

Finally,  one  day,  a  lad  yelled  down  "  Land!  " 
and  we  all  dove  for  the  fiddley  like  wild  men, 
and  those  who  could  get  near  enough  looked 
out,  and  sure  enough!  there  was  the  coast  of 


Landed  in  Germany  225 

Norway,  very  ragged  and  rocky  and  covered  with 
snow.  We  thought  it  was  all  over  then,  and 
that  we  would  be  landed  at  Bergen  sure.  Then 
there  was  the  usual  running  around  and  yelling 
on  deck,  and  we  were  not  so  sure  we  would  be 
landed,  and  very  suddenly  it  got  colder  than 
ever. 

I  was  in  the  fiddley,  aching  to  get  out,  and 
ready  for  anything  that  might  happen,  when  the 
door  opened  suddenly  and  Badewitz  grabbed  me, 
and  asked  me  in  English  if  I  was  a  quarter- 
master. I  said  yes,  and  he  pulled  me  by  the 
arm  to  a  cabin.  I  did  not  know  what  was  going 
to  happen,  but  he  took  an  oilskin  from  the  wall 
and  told  me  to  put  it  on. 

There  were  two  sailors  there  also,  and  they 
put  life  belts  on,  and  then  I  was  more  puzzled 
than  ever,  and  scared,  too,  because  I  thought 
maybe  they  were  going  to  throw  me  overboard, 
though  what  that  had  to  do  with  being  a  quar- 
termaster I  could  not  see. 

But  they  drilled  me  up  on  to  the  bridge  and 
told  me  to  take  the  wheel.  What  their  idea  was 
I  do  not  know.  Possibly  they  wanted  a  non- 
combatant  at  the  wheel  in  case  they  were  over- 
hauled by  a  neutral  vessel.  We  were  going  full 
speed  at  the  time,  but  as  soon  as  I  took  the  wheel 
she  cut  down  to  half  speed,  and  stayed  that 
way  for  half  an  hour.  Then  up  to  full  speed 
again. 

Pretty  soon  there  was  a  tramp  steamer  on  the 
starboard  bow,  and  almost  before  I  saw  it,  there 
were  two  more  sentries  on  each  side  of  me,  prod- 


226  Gunner  Depew 

ding  me  with  their  revolvers,  and  warning  me  to 
keep  on  the  course.  They  had  civilian  clothes  on. 

Then  we  went  through  the  Skager  Back  and 
Cattegat,  which  are  narrow  strips  of  water  lead- 
ing to  the  Baltic,  and  we  were  only  a  mile  from 
shore,  with  vessels  all  about  us.  It  would  have 
been  an  easy  thing  for  me  to  signal  what  our 
ship  was  and  who  were  aboard,  but  they  had  six 
sentries  right  on  my  neck  all  the  time  to  keep 
me  from  it.  I  never  wanted  to  do  anything  worse 
in  my  life  than  jump  overboard  or  signal.  But 
I  would  have  been  shot  down  before  I  had  more 
than  started  to  do  either,  so  I  just  stayed  with 
the  wheel. 

As  we  were  Hearing  Jutland  we  sighted  a  boat 
that  looked  like  a  tug,  and  she  began  to  smoke  up 
and  blow  her  siren.  The  sailors  got  very  excited 
and  ran  around  in  crazy  style,  and  Badewitz 
began  shouting  more  orders  than  they  could  get 
away  with.  The  sentries  left  me  and  ran  with 
the  rest  of  the  Fritzies  to  the  boat  deck  and 
started  to  lower  one  of  the  life  boats.  But 
Badewitz  was  right  on  their  heels,  and  kicked  the 
whole  bunch  around  in  great  shape,  roaring  like 
a  bull  all  the  time. 

I  left  the  wheel  and  ran  to  the  end  of  the 
bridge,  to  jump  overboard.  But  the  minute  I 
let  go  of  the  wheel  the  vessel  fell  off  of  the 
course,  and  they  noticed  it,  and  Badewitz  sent 
five  of  them  up  on  the  bridge  and  three  others 
to  the  side  with  their  revolvers  to  shoot  me  if 
I  should  reach  the  water.  I  think  if  I  had  had 
any  rope  to  lash  the  wheel  with  I  could  have 


Landed  in  Germany  22T 

got  away  and  they  would  not  have  known  it. 

When  the  five  sailors  reached  the  bridge  one 
of  them  jumped  for  the  cord  and  gave  our  siren 
five  long  blasts  in  answer  to  the  tug.  The  tug 
was  about  to  launch  a  torpedo,  and  we  whistled 
just  in  time.  One  of  our  men  was  looking  from 
the  fiddley,  and  he  saw  the  Huns  making  for 
the  life  boat,  so  he  got  two  or  three  others  and 
they  all  yelled  together,  "  Don't  let  them  get 
away!  "  thinking  that  they  would  get  the  boat 
over  and  leave  the  ship,  and  trying  to  yell  loud 
enough  for  the  tug  to  hear  them.  Badewitz  took 
this  man  and  two  or  three  others,  whether  they 
were  the  ones  who  yelled  or  not,  and  beat  them 
up  and  put  them  in  irons.  I  thought  there  was 
going  to  be  a  mutiny  aboard,  but  it  did  not 
come  off,  and  I  am  not  sure  what  the  Huns  were 
so  excited  about. 

The  other  four  sailors  who  came  up  on  the 
bridge  did  not  touch  me,  but  just  kept  me  cov- 
ered with  their  revolvers.  That  was  the  way 
with  them  —  they  would  not  touch  us  unless 
Badewitz  was  there  or  they  had  bayonets.  The 
old  bull  himself  came  up  on  the  bridge  after  he 
had  beaten  up  a  few  men,  threw  me  around  quite 
a  bit  and  kicked  me  down  from  the  bridge  and 
slammed  me  into  the  coal  bunkers.  I  felt  pretty 
sore,  as  you  can  imagine,  and  disappointed  and 
pretty  low  generally,  but  when  I  sailed  through 
the  fiddley  and  landed  on  the  coal  I  had  to  laugh, 
no  matter  how  bad  I  felt,  for  there  was  Mallen 
just  finding  his  monocle  again.  Every  time  you 


228  Gunner  Depew 

saw  him  he  was  losing  it  or  having  it  brought 
back  to  him. 

After  a  while  we  heard  the  anchor  chains 
rattling  through  -on  their  way  to  get  wet,  and 
we  pulled  up.  Then  every  German  ship  in  the 
Baltic  came  up  to  look  us  over,  I  guess.  They 
opened  up  the  hatch  covers,  and  the  Hun  garbies 
and  gold-stripes  came  aboard  and  looked  down 
at  us,  and  spit  all  they  could  on  us,  and  called 
us  all  the  different  kinds  of  swine  in  creation. 
They  had  them  lined  up  and  filing  past  the  hatch- 
ways—  all  of  them  giving  us  the  once  over  in 
turn.  Maybe  they  sold  tickets  for  this  show  — 
it  would  be  like  the  Huns. 

At  first  we  were  milling  around  trying  to  get 
out  from  under  the  hatch  openings  and  the 
shower  of  spit,  but  some  Limey  officer  sang  out, 
"  Britishers  all!  Don't  give  way!  "  and  we  stood 
still  and  let  them  spit  their  damned  German 
lungs  out  before  we  would  move  for  them,  and 
some  Cornishman  began  singing  their  song  about 
Trelawney.  So  we  made  out  that  we  did  not 
know  such  a  thing  as  a  German  ever  lived. 

We  got  better  acquainted  with  German  spit- 
ting later'  on,  and  believe  me,  they  are  great 
little  spitters,  not  much  on  distance  or  accu- 
racy, but  quick  in  action  and  well  supplied  with 
ammunition.  Spitting  on  prisoners  is  the  favor- 
ite indoor  and  outdoor  sport  for  Germans,  men 
and  women  alike. 

When  the  show  was  over,  they  rousted  us  up 
on  deck  and  put  us  to  work  throwing  the  salt 


Landed  in  Germany  229 

pork  and  canned  goodb  into  two  German  mine- 
layers. While  we  were  at  it,  a  Danish  patrol 
boat  came  out  and  tied  alongside  us,  and  some 
of  her  officers  came  aboard  and  saw  us.  They 
knew  we  were  prisoners-of-war,  and  they  knew 
that  a  vessel  carrying  prisoners-of-war  must  not 
remain  in  neutral  waters  for  t>ver  twenty-four 
hours,  but  they  did  not  say  anything  about  it. 

That  night  two  men  named  Barney  Hill  and 
Joyce,  the  latter  a  gunner  from  the  Mount 
Temple,  sneaked  up  on  deck  and  aft  to  the  poop 
deck.  There  was  a  pair  of  wooden  stairs  lead- 
ing to  the  top  of  the  poop  deck,  and  Joyce  and 
Hill  lifted  it  and  got  it  over  the  side  with  a  rope 
to  it.  The  two  of  them  got  down  into  the  water 
all  right,  but  Joyce  let  out  a  yell  because  the 
water  was  so  cold,  and  a  German  patrol  boat 
heard  him  and  flashed  a  searchlight.  They 
picked  up  Joyce  right  away,  but  Barney  was 
making  good  headway  and  was  almost  free  when 
they  dragged  him  in.  They  beat  them  up  on  the 
patrol  boat,  and  when  they  put  them  back  on  the 
Yarrowdale,  Badewitz  beat  them  up  some  more 
and  put  them  in  irons.  Then  he  began  to  shoot 
at  their  feet  with  his  revolver,  and  he  had  a 
sailor  stand  by  to  hand  him  another  revolver 
when  the  first  one  was  empty.  Then  he  would 
gash  their  faces  with  the  barrel  of  the  revolver 
and  shout,  "I'm  Badewitz.  I'm  the  man  who 
fooled  the  English,"  and  shoot  at  them  some 
more. 

When  they  searched  them  they  found  papers 
under  their  shirts  wrapped  in  oilskin  and  writ- 


230  Gunner  Depew 

ten  in  English,  French,  Italian  and  Spanish, 
that  they  were  supposed  to  take  to  different  con- 
suls if  they  got  ashore,  and  all  the  notes  had 
different  signatures.  I  do  not  know  where  they 
got  the  paper,  but  they  used  coal  to  write  with. 
But  the  oilskin  they  tore  out  of  the  oilskin  coat 
Badewitz  had  given  me  when  I  took  the  wheel 
and  which  they  forgot  to  take  away  from  me, 
because  they  were  so  busy  with  their  boots  when 
they  slammed  me  into  the  bunkers  again.  When 
I  saw  that  they  had  Hill  and  Joyce  on  board 
again,  I  threw  the  oilskin  away,  so  they  would 
not  find  out  I  had  given  them  the  wrappers  for 
the  notes. 

All  the  while  the  sailors  were  celebrating, 
drinking  and  eating  and  yelling,  as  usual,  and 
the  whistles  on  all  the  German  ships  were  blow- 
ing, and  they  were  having  a  great  fest.  After 
about  thirty  hours  we  left  Jutland,  escorted  by 
a  mine-layer  and  a  mine-sweeper.  I  asked  a 
German  garby  if  that  was  the  whole  German 
navy,  and  he  looked  surprised  and  did  not  know 
I  was  kidding  him,  and  said  no.  Then  I  said, 
"  So  the  English  got  all  the  rest,  did  they?  " 
and  he  handed  me  one  in  the  mouth  with  his 
bayonet  hilt,  so  I  quit  kidding  him.  One  of  them 
hit  Mallen,  too,  so  Mallen  laid  for  him  with  a 
lump  of  coal,  waiting  for  him  to  pass  the  fiddley 
door,  but  he  never  came. 

We  saw  rows  and  rows  of  mines,  and  the  Ger- 
man sailors  pointed  out  what  they  said  were 
H.  M.  SS.  Lion  and  Nomad,  but  I  do  not  know 
whether  they  were  the  same  ones  that  were  in 


Landed  in  Germany  231 

the  Jutland  battle  or  not.*  Finally  we  landed 
at  Swinemimde  just  as  the  bells  were  ringing  the 
old  year  out  and  the  new  year  in.  We  were  a 
fine  bunch  of  blackbirds  to  hand  the  Kaiser  for 
a  New  Year's  present,  believe  me. 

They  mustered  us  up  on  deck,  and  each  of  us 
got  a  cup  of  water  for  our  New  Year's  spree. 
Then  we  saw  we  were  in  for  it,  and  all  hope 
gone,  but  we  were  glad  to  be  released  from  our 
hole,  because  we  had  been  prisoners  since  De- 
cember 10th  —  three  days  on  the  Mo  ewe  and 
eighteen  on  the  Yarrowdale,  and  the  coal  was 
not  any  softer  than  when  we  first  sat  on  it. 

So  we  began  singing,  "  Pack  up  your  troubles 
in  your  old  kit  bag  and  smile,  boys,  smile. 
What's  the  use  of  worrying?  It's  never  worth 
while, 'r  and  so  forth.  They  made  us  shut  up, 
but  not  before  we  asked  ourselves  if  we  were 
downhearted,  and  everybody  yelled  "  No!  " 

And  that  is  how  we  gave  our  regards  to 
Swinemiinde. 

•According-  to  the  British  Admiralty,  H.  M.  S.  Nomad  was  one 
of  the  British  men-of-war  sunk  in  the  Battle  of  Jutland.  The 
Lion  was  Admiral  Beatty's  flagship,  and  came  out  of  the  battle 
unscathed.  The  German  sailors,  in  conveying  this  information 
to  Gunner  I>epew,  either  must  have  been  deceived  themselves, 
or  deliberately  sought  to  add  to  the  misery  and  discouragement 
o*  their  prisoners.  The  Germans  are  known  to  have  picked  up 
many  British  sailors  from  warships  that  were  sunk  in  the  Jut- 
land engagement.  This  would  account  for  the  presence  of  the 
Nomad'9  crew  at  Brandenburg,  where  Gunner  Depew  later  met 
them. — EDITOR'S  NOTE. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
11  PACK  UP  YOUR  TROUBLES  —  " 

We  arrived  at  Swinemiinde,  on  the  east  bank, 
and  after  we  had  had  our  drink  of  water  and 
had  been  rousted  back  into  the  bunkers,  Bade- 
witz  went  across  to  the  west  side  in  a  launch 
with  Joyce  and  Hill  and  a  guard  of  sailors. 
They  were  to  be  shot  the  next  morning,  with 
some  others,  at  a  public  shooting-fest.  The  rest 
of  us  wrapped  ourselves  in  lumps  of  coal  as 
best  we  could  and  tried  to  sleep. 

In  the  morning  crowds  of  Germans  came 
aboard  us  and  were  turned  loose  on  the  boxes 
in  the  hold.  It  was  a  sight  to  see  them  rip  off 
the  covers  and  gobble  the  salami  and  other  stuff 
that  we  carried.  Table  manners  are  not  needed 
when  there  is  no  table,  I  guess,  but  if  you  had 
seen  them,  you  would  say  these  Germans  did  not 
even  have  trough  manners.  I  have  seen  hogs 
that  were  more  finicky. 

While  they  were  at  it,  hand  to  hand  with  the 
chow,  giving  and  receiving  terrible  punishment, 
we  prisoners  were  mustered  on  deck,  counted, 
kicked  onto  tugs  and  transferred  to  the  west 
bank,  where  the  mob  was  waiting  for  us.  My 
wounds,  as  you  can  imagine,  were  in  a  pretty 
bad  state  by  this  time,  and  were  getting  more 

232 


"  Pack  Up  Your  Troubles  —  >       233 

painful  every  minute,  so  that  I  found  I  was 
getting  ugly  and  anxious  for  an  argument.  I 
knew  that  if  I  stayed  this  way  I  would  probably 
never  come  out  alive,  for  there  is  every  chance 
you  could  want  to  pick  a  quarrel  while  you  are 
a  prisoner  that  will  mean  freedom  for  you  —  but 
only  the  freedom  of  going  West,  which  I  was 
not  anxious  to  try. 

I  had  been  delirious  a  bit,  I  think,  and  dreamed 
much  about  Murray  and  Brown.  Once  I  saw 
myself  crucified,  too,  and  although  I  would  not 
let  myself  get  superstitious,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
it  would  be  all  I  could  expect.  I  do  not  know 
what  that  feeling  should  be  called,  but  it  was 
about  like  this:  Three  of  us  had  started;  two 
had  gone  West;  would  not  all  three  go  West? 
And  the  two  who  had  gone  were  crucified; 
would  not  the  third  go  that  way  too?  Some- 
times it  seemed  almost  wrong  that  I  should  ever 
get  away  —  like  deserting  Murray  and  Brown, 
almost.  But  then  I  would  figure  that  all  that 
was  foolish,  and  I  would  say,  like  the  Limeys, 
11  There  are  just  two  ways  of  looking  at  it: 
either  you  die  or  you  do  not  die.  If  you  die,  you 
are  dead.  If  you  do  not  die,  you  will  have  to 
some  time,  anyway.  Either  way,  you  are  safe. 
So  why  choose?  ' 

Then  I  would  figure  that  if  you  could  not 
help  yourself,  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  throw 
a  front  and  let  on  that  you  liked  your  medicine. 
So  I  would  say,  "  Carry  on,  Chink,"  and  go 
around  as  though  I  did  not  give  a  damn.  But 
I  never  could  handle  myself  so  that  the  Huns 


234  Gunner  Depew 

would  think  I  did  not  mind  their  rough  stuff, 
and  I  guess  I  was  pretty  sassy.  When  I  think 
of  it  now,  it  is  a  wonder  I  did  not  get  it 
for  being  too  mouthy,  if  for  nothing  else. 

When  we  got  near  the  west  bank,  on  the  tugs, 
we  could  see  that  we  were  up  against  a  battle 
with  our  arms  tied.  Over  half  the  crowd  was 
women  and  children,  I  should  say,  and  the  rest 
were  laborers,  and  old  civvies,  and  reserve  sol- 
diers, and  roughnecks  generally.  We  could  see 
the  spit  experts  —  the  spit  snipers,  deployed  to 
the  front,  almost. 

As  we  went  ashore,  the  bombardment  began, 
and  we  were  not  only  under  fire  of  spit,  if  you 
could  call  it  that,  but  also  of  rocks  and  bottles 
and  sticks  and  most  anything  that  could  be 
thrown.  I  discovered  then  why  so  many  of  our 
major  league  ball  players  have  German  names. 
As  we  were  marched  along,  the  crowd  drilled 
along  the  street  with  us,  heaving  bricks  and  spit- 
ting and  working  the  changes  on  schweinhund. 
We  had  an  armed  guard,  of  course,  but  all  they 
did  was  to  guard  the  crowd  when  some  of  us 
could  not  stand  it  and  tried  to  get  back  at  some 
of  the  mob.  In  a  civilized  country,  as  you  prob- 
ably know,  prisoners  are  protected  from  mobs 
by  their  guards. 

All  this  time,  "  lest  you  forget,"  we  had  no 
shoes,  and  no  clothing  —  only  what  had  once 
been  our  underwear.  It  is  all  right  to  be  a 
Coney  Island  snowbird  and  pose  around  in  your 
bathing  suit  in  the  drifts,  because  you  are  in 
good  condition,  and  last  but  not  least,  because 


"  Pack  Up  Your  Troubles  —         235 

you  do  not  have  to  do  it.  Figure  out  the  other 
side  of  it  for  yourself. 

They  marched  us  into  a  field  where  there  was 
nothing  much  but  guns  and  ammunition  and 
snow,  and  set  us  up  in  something  like  skirmish 
formation.  We  stood  there  for  some  time,  and 
then  we  saw  a  lot  of  Huns  with  the  new  long 
rifles  coming  toward  us,  yelling  just  as  they  did 
in  battle,  and  we  thought  sure  we  were  being 
used  for  practice  targets.  It  is  a  good  thing 
they  halted  and  stopped  yelling  when  they  did, 
or  we  would  all  have  started  for  them  to  fight 
it  out,  for  we  were  not  the  kind  that  likes  to  be 
butchered  with  hands  in  the  air,  and  we  would 
have  been  glad  for  a  chance  to  get  a  few  of 
them  before  they  got  us.  But  they  did  halt,  and 
then  surrounded  us,  and  drilled  us  away  through 
swamps  and  woods  and  shallow  water  or  slush. 
The  women  followed,  too,  and  there  were  plenty 
of  bricks  and  spit  left.  Women  as  well  as  men 
are  the  same  the  world  over,  they  say.  I  won- 
der? You  can  just  picture  the  women  of,  say, 
Eockland,  Maine,  following  a  crowd  of  German 
prisoners  that  way,  can't  you!  Not!  But  of 
course  the  women  of  Eockland  are  pretty  crude 
—  no  kuMur  at  all  —  and  Gott  never  commis- 
sioned President  Wilson  to  take  the  lid  off  the 
strafe-pot  for  him. 

They  drilled  us  along  the  docks,  and  it  looked 
as  though  the  whole  German  navy  was  tied  up 
at  Swinemiinde.  We  saw  many  of  the  ships 
we  had  heard  about,  among  them  being  the 
famous  Vulcan,  the  mother-ship  for  submarines. 


236  Gunner  Depew 

There  were  many  sailors  loafing  along  the  docks, 
and  they  gave  the  women  a  hand  with  their 
day's  work.  They  were  no  better  with  a  brick, 
but  they  had  more  ammunition  when  it  came  to 
spitting.  One  of  them  tripped  a  young  boy  by 
the  name  of  Kelly,  and  as  you  would  never 
doubt,  Kelly  picked  up  a  rock  and  crashed  the 
sailor  with  it.  He  was  then  bayonetted  twice 
in  the  left  leg.  We  began  singing  then,  our  pop- 
ular favorite,  "  Pack  up  your  troubles,  etc." 
and  when  they  heard  us,  how  the  swine  stared! 

Then  they  drilled  us  past  the  German  soldiers' 
quarters.  The  men  were  at  rifle  practice,  and 
I  guess  all  of  us  thought  how  handy  we  would 
be  as  targets.  But  when  we  got  near  them, 
they  quit  practicing  and  crowded  around  us 
yelling:  "  'RausI  Zuriickl  " 

Finally  we  got  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  were 
halted  near  the  barracks  while  an  officer  read 
the  Martial  Law  of  Germany  to  us.  At  least  we 
thought  maybe  that  was  it.  Merry  wags,  these 
Germans  are.  They  will  have  their  little  joke. 
I  do  not  know  why  it  is,  but  there  is  something 
funny  about  the  German  language  to  most  peo- 
ple who  are  not  Germans.  I  have  known  sailors 
who  had  heard  almost  every  language  in  the 
world,  from  Chinese  to  Finnish,  and  they  never 
could  help  laughing  when  they  heard  Fritz  begin 
to  swallow  his  palate  and  cough,  which  is  what 
you  must  do  to  speak  German. 

So  many  of  us  had  all  we  could  do  to  keep 
from  laughing,  and  to  make  it  worse,  Mallen, 
who  stood  behind  me,  monocle  and  all,  began 


. . 


Pack  Up  Your  Troubles  —  "      237 


whispering  a  story  to  me  —  which  was  old  stuff, 
as  I  had  heard  it  before  —  about  two  women 
coming  out  of  church  in  Hull,  England,  and  one 
of  them  said  the  minister  had  preached  that  the 
only  way  the  Allies  could  win  the  war  was  to 
pray  to  God  for  victory.  Another  woman  butted 
in  and  said,  "  But  can't  the  Germans  do  that, 
too  f  '  and  the  first  woman  said,  * '  Yes,  but 
would  He  understand  them?  " 

The  lads  near  him  began  laughing,  and  farther 
up  the  line  some  more  men  saw  Mallen  was 
doing  something,  and  he  looked  so  funny  stand- 
ing there  in  his  underwear  and  one  sock  and  a 
monocle  that  they  began  laughing,  too.  So  one 
fellow  snickered,  and  then  another  one,  and 
pretty  soon  the  whole  gang  of  us  were  just 
roaring.  You  would  have  thought  we  were  at  a 
burlesque  show. 

At  first  the  Germans  did  not  know  what  to 
make  of  it.  It  was  not  their  idea  of  how 
prisoners  should  act.  And  then  they  got  very 
angry,  because  when  a  German  cannot  under- 
stand anything  it  makes  him  mad,  and  if  it  is 
an  invention,  or  something  like  that,  he  has  to 
steal  it  before  he  can  calm  down.  But  if  it  is 
only  men  that  puzzle  him  — "  'Raus!  ' 

The  officer  shout  ad  around  for  a  while,  and 
then  the  sentries  snouted,  too,  and  that  made  it 
funnier,  and  we  laughed  all  the  harder.  But 
after  a  while  they  got  busy  with  bayonets  on 
every  fifth  or  sixth  man,  and  that  spoiled  the 
joke.  So  we  stopped  laughing.  Then  the  officer 
started  bawling  us  out  until-  he  saw  that  we  were 


238  Gunner  Depew 

likely  to  break  out  again,  so  lie  stopped.  Then 
he  asked  in  English,  of  a  kind,  and  in  German, 
if  any  of  us  could  understand  Deutsch.  I  guess 
it  was  a  German  law  that  this  little  sketch  had 
to  be  read  to  prisoners. 

So,  finally,  we  got  what  he  wanted  into  our 
heads,  but  not  a  man  budged.  The  officer  got 
very  mad  then,  and  it  looked  as  though  we  might 
be  in  for  rough  weather.  Now  I  had  picked  up 
a  few  words  in  several  languages,  including 
Eussian,  and,  of  course,  French,  but  I  did  not 
know  enough  German  to  damn  the  Kaiser  in, 
which  is  about  all  the  use  I  ever  thought  I  would 
have  for  the  gargle. 

But  I  figured  that  if  the  martial  law  did  not 
get  read  to  us,  we  would  never  get  into  the 
barracks,  which  could  not  be  any  colder  than  it 
was  outside,  so  I  stepped  out.  I  was  supposed 
to  be  a  civilian,  but  the  officer  spotted  me  for 
a  man  who  had  seen  some  military  service,  and 
he  tried  to  find  out  what  army  I  had  been  in. 
He  learned  every  thing  about  me  but  the  truth. 

Then  he  read  the  law  to  me,  and  I  did  not  get 
one  word  of  it.  When  he  had  finished  he  told 
me  to  translate  it  to  the  men;  at  least,  I  figured 
that  was  what  he  wanted.  So  they  drilled  me 
up  in  front  of  our  men  between  four  sentries 
and  I  opened  up. 

The  first  thing  I  said  to  our  boys  was  that  if 
they  did  not  want  to  see  me  shot,  please  not  to 
laugh,  only  I  put  it  stronger.  Because  I  figured 
that  I  probably  looked  pretty  funny  as  an  inter- 
preter, and  that  if  they  laughed,  the  Germans 


"  Pack  Up  Your  Troubles  —  ''      239 

would  think  I  was  kidding  them  or  otherwise 
not  on  the  job,  and  that  would  mean  the  finish 
of  my  career  not  only  as  a  language  expert  but 
as  everything  else. 

Then  I  said  that  if  the  boys  wanted  to  get  by 
with  the  Germans,  they  would  have  to  cut  out 
the  rough  stuff,  and  that  the  reason  I  was  pull- 
ing this  line  of  talk  was  so  we  could  get  into  the 
barracks.  I  then  said  that  the  law  was  so  long 
that  I  would  have  to  stall  for  a  few  minutes 
more  of  talking,  because  otherwise  the  Huns 
would  know  I  had  not  repeated  the  meaning  of 
all  of  it,  and  I  begged  them  not  to  laugh  again 
at  whatever  I  might  say,  and  to  pretend  that 
they  were  understanding  what  the  officer  wanted 
them  to. 

Now  I  think  this  officer  knew  enough  English 
to  gather  what  I  was  driving  at,  but  he  let  me> 
go  on,  because  it  would  amount  to  the  same  thing 
in  the  long  run.  So  I  went  on,  trying  to  talk 
about  something  and  yet  not  make  the  men  laugh. 
And  they  would  nod  their  heads  once  in  a  while 
and  pretend  that  they  were  getting  the  officer's 
drift.  But  Mallen  and  his  monocle  almost 
wrecked  me,  he  looked  so  funny,  and  I  had  to 
move  a  foot  or  two  so  as  to  bring  another  man 
between  him  and  my  eyes.  I  do  not  know  just 
what  I  said,  but  finally  I  thought  I  had  talked 
about  as  long  as  it  would  take  to  explain  the 
German  law  in  English,  and  I  shut  up  and 
turned  to  the  officer.  He  drilled  me  back  to  the 
line.  Then  a  cockney,  who  seemed  to  think  I 
really  knew  German  or  had  a  drag  with  the 


240  Gunner  Depew 

officer,  told  me  to  ask  the  officer  if  we  would  get 
a  meal  in  the  barracks.  I  was  afraid  to  do  it,  so 
I  told  the  cockney  that  the  officer  had  said  to 
me  that  we  would  be  fed  if  we  behaved,  and 
the  cockney  was  surprised  that  I  had  not  told 
all  the  men  that.  So  I  told  the  cockney  that 
the  officer  had  told  me  not  to  tip  it  off,  because 
he  wanted  to  see  how  the  men  would  act.  That 
satisfied  the  cockney,  and  he  let  it  go  at  that. 

Finally  they  let  us  into  the  barracks,  and  the 
first  thing  we  saw  was  a  great  big  pile  of  hay. 
That  looked  good  to  us,  and  we  made  a  rush 
and  dived  into  it.  But  the  Huns  told  us  to  take 
the  hay  out  and  throw  it  in  the  middle  of  the 
road.  They  had  to  use  force  before  we  would 
do  it.  Finally  we  gave  in,  however,  and  started 
to  carry  it  out.  Some  of  the  young  boys  were 
crying,  and  I  do  not  blame  them  much. 

But  one  of  the  boys  tried  to  hide  some  of  the 
hay  behind  a  box  and  was  caught  doing  it,  and 
two  sentries  clouted  him  from  one  end  of  the 
barracks  to  the  other.  His  nose  was  broken  and 
his  face  mashed  to  a  jelly.  But  there  was  noth- 
ing we  could  do,  so  we  just  wandered  up  and 
down  the  barracks,  about  as  we  did  between 
decks  on  the  Moewe,  trying  to  keep  warm. 

While  this  Marathon  was  on  we  heard  a  whistle 
blown  very  loudly,  and  when  we  looked  out  we 
saw  a  wagon  piled  up  with  old  tin  cans.  Then 
we  were  told  to  form  single  file,  walk  out  to  the 
wagon  and  each  get  a  can  for  himself.  Each 
man  had  to  take  the  first  can  he  laid  his  hands 
on,  and  many  of  us  got  rusty  ones  with  holes 


"  Pack  Up  Your  Troubles  —  '       241 

in  them.  So  that  about  half  an  hour  later, 
when  we  received  barley  coffee,  and  all  we  had 
to  drink  it  from  was  the  cans,  lots  of  the  men 
had  to  drink  theirs  almost  in  one  gulp  or  lose 
half  of  it. 

The  barracks  were  very  dirty  and  smelled  hor- 
ribly, and  the  men  were  still  not  even  half 
clothed.  We  all  looked  filthy  and  smelled  that 
way,  and  where  the  coal  dust  had  rubbed  off,  we 
were  very  pale.  And  all  of  us  were  starved 
looking.  Every  time  we  wanted  to  go  to  the 
toilet  we  had  to  tell  a  sentry,  and  he  would 
drill  us  outside  to  a  very  shallow  trench,  dug 
too  near  the  barracks,  and  not  covered  at  all 
except  for  narrow  planks  thrown  across  it  at 
intervals.  You  could  see  that  the  Huns  were 
not  anxious  about  us  as  far  as  sanitation  went. 

About  eleven  o'clock  that  morning  the  whistle 
blew  again,  and  we  came  out  and  were  given  an 
aluminum  spoon  and  a  dish  apiece.  Then  we 
cheered  up  and  saw  corned  beef  and  cabbage 
for  ourselves.  An  hour  later  they  drilled  us 
through  the  snow  to  the  kilche.  When  we  got 
there  we  stood  in  line  until  at  least  half  past 
twelve,  and  then  the  Germans  shouted,  "  Niclits 
zu  essen."  But  we  did  not  know  what  that 
meant,  so  we  just  hung  around  there  and  waited. 
Then  they  started  shouting,  "  Zuriick!  Zu- 
ruckl  "  and  drove  us  back  to  the  barracks. 

Later  we  heard  the  words  "  nichts  zu  essen!  ' 
(or  "  nix  essen,'*  as  Mallen  said)  so  often  that 
we   thought   probably   they  meant   "  no   eats." 
We  had  our  reasons  for  thinking  so,  too.    Those 


242  Gunner  Depew 

words,  and  "  zuruck  "  and  "  'raus,"  were  prac- 
tically all  we  did  hear,  except,  of  course,  various 
kinds  of  schweinhunde. 

It  was  awful  to  see  the  men  when  we  got  back 
to  the  barracks.  Some  of  the  boys  from  the 
Georgia,  not  much  over  twelve  years  old,  were 
almost  crazy,  but  even  the  older  men  were  cry- 
ing, many  of  them.  It  was  nothing  but  torture 
all  the  time.  They  opened  all  the  windows  and 
doors  in  the  barracks,  and  then  we  could  not 
heat  the  room  with  our  bodies.  When  we  started 
to  move  around,  to  keep  warm,  they  fired  a  few 
shots  at  us.  I  do  not  know  whether  they  hit 
any  one  or  not;  we  had  got  so  that  we  did  not 
pay  any  attention  to  things  like  that.  But  it 
stopped  us,  and  we  had  to  stand  still.  The  Huns 
thought  we  would  take  the  rifles  from  the  sen- 
tries and  use  them,  too. 

I  never  saw  a  yellower  bunch  of  people  in  my 
life.  I  do  not  mean  people.  I  wish  I  could 
publish  what  I  really  do  mean. 

We  had  stoves  in  the  barracks,  but  no  coal 
or  wood  to  burn.  There  were  many  boxes  piled 
up  there,  but  they  belonged  to  the  Germans. 
We  would  have  burned  them  if  we  could,  but 
the  Germans  made  us  carry  them  out  across  the 
road.  They  weighed  about  150  pounds  apiece, 
and  we  were  so  weak  that  it  was  all  two  men 
could  do  to  budge  them.  And  we  had  to  carry 
them ;  they  would  not  let  us  roll  them.  We  were 
so  cold  and  hungry  that  even  that  exercise  did 
not  warm  us. 

About  2:30  the  whistle  blew  again,   and  the 


"  Pack  Up  Your  Troubles  —  >:       243 

Huns  picked  out  a  few  men  and  took  them  down 
the  road.  We  could  not  figure  out  why,  but  they 
came  back  about  3  o'clock,  all  of  them  with 
bread  in  their  arms.  They  were  chewing  away 
on  it  when  they  had  a  chance.  Whenever  the 
sentries  were  not  looking  they  would  bite  at  it 
like  a  fish  going  after  a  worm.  Each  man  car- 
ried five  loaves. 

When  they  got  in  the  barracks  the  sentries 
made  them  put  the  bread  down  on  the  floor,  and 
then,  with  their  bayonets,  the  sentries  cut  each 
loaf  once  down  the  center  lengthwise  and  four 
times  across,  which  meant  ten  men  to  a  loaf 
about  the  size  of  an  ordinary  ten-cent  loaf  in 
this  country  now.  They  gave  each  of  us  a  piece 
a  little  larger  than  a  safety-match  box. 

The  bread  was  hard  and  dark,  and  I  really 
think  they  made  it  from  trees.  It  had  just 
exactly  the  same  smell  that  tile  dirt  around  trees 
has.  Mallen  called  it  mud  as  soon  as  he  tried 
it,  and  that  was  the  name  we  had  for  it  after 
that. 

We  filed  past  the  sentries  single  file  to  get 
our  ration  of  this  mud,  and  there  was  no  chance 
of  getting  in  line  twice,  for  we  had  to  keep 
on  filing  until  we  were  out  in  the  road,  and 
stand  there  in  the  snow  to  eat  it.  We  could  not 
go  back  in  the  barracks  until  every  man  had 
been  served. 

Our  meals  were  like  this:  A  can  of  barley 
coffee  in  the  morning;  cabbage  soup,  so  called, 
at  noon;  a  tenth  of  a  loaf  of  bread  at  3  p.  m. 
That  was  our  menu  day  in  and  day  out,  the 


244  Gunner  Depew 

Kaiser  rs  birthday,  Lincoln's,  May  Day,  or  any 
other  time. 

This  cabbage  soup  was  a  great  idea.  We 
called  it  shadow  soup,  because  the  boys  claimed 
they  made  it  by  hanging  a  cabbage  over  a  bar- 
rel of  water  and  letting  the  shadow  fall  on  the 
water.  We  pretended,  too,  that  if  you  found  any 
cabbage  in  it,  you  could  take  your  dish  back  for 
a  second  helping.  But  I  never  saw  anybody 
get  more  than  one  dishful.  All  it  was,  was  just 
spoiled  water. 

We  tried  to  go  to  sleep  that  night,  but  there 
were  so  many  sentries  around  us  —  and  those  of 
us  who  were  not  sick  were  wounded  —  that  I  do 
not  think  a  man  of  us  really  slept.  After  a 
while  I  asked  a  sentry  if  I  could  go  to  the 
toilet,  but  for  some  reason  he  would  not  let 
me.  I  had  different  ideas  about  it,  so  I  stood 
around  near  the  door,  and  when  he  turned  his 
back,  out  I  went  and  around  the  corner  of  the 
barracks. 

But  one  of  the  sentries  there  saw  me  and  blew 
his  whistle,  and  a  guard  of  eight  came  up  from 
somewhere  and  grabbed  me.  I  tried  to  explain, 
but  it  was  no  use,  because  every  time  I  said 
a  word  it  meant  another  swat  over  the  ear,  so 
finally  I  gave  it  up. 

Then  they  drilled  me  across  the  road  to  the 
officers'  quarters.  There  wejre  three  officers 
there,  and  each  of  them  asked  me  questions 
about  all  kinds  of  things,  but  never  once  men- 
tioned my  running  out  of  the  barracks.  Then 
they  gave  the  sentries  some  commands,  and  four 


"  Pack  Up  Your  Troubles  —  '       245 

of  the  sentries  took  me  out  and  over  to  the 
barbed  wire  fence.  There  they  tied  me,  face 
to  the  fence,  arms  over  my  head,  and  hands  and 
feet  lashed  to  the  wire,  and  with  a  rope  around 
my  waist,  too.  I  thought,  then,  that  my  hunch 
had  come  true,  and  that  I  would  be  crucified, 
like  Murray  and  Brown. 

They  posted  a  sentry  there  in  addition  to  the 
regular  guards,  and  every  time  he  walked  past 
me  he  would  kick  me  or  spit  on  me,  or  do  both. 

One  time  he  kicked  me  so  hard  that  a  prong 
of  the  barbed  wire  gashed  me  over  the  left  eye 
—  the  only  one  I  can  see  with  —  and  when  the 
blood  ran  into  my  eye  it  blinded  me.  I  thought 
both  eyes  were  gone  then,  and  I  hoped  they 
would  shoot  me.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  got 
my  share  by  this  time  without  losing  the  other 
eye,  and  if  it  was  gone,  I  wanted  to  go  too. 

I  could  not  put  up  my  hand  to  feel  where  the 
prong  had  jabbed  me,  and  it  kept  on  bleeding 
and  smarting.  I  had  on  practically  no  clothing, 
you  remember.  The  wounds  in  my  thigh  had 
opened,  and  it  was  bitter  cold  and  windy.  So 
you  can  picture  to  yourself  how  gay  and  care- 
free I  was. 

When  I  had  been  there  for  an  hour  and  a 
half  they  untied  me  from  the  wire,  and  I  keeled 
over  on  my  back.  They  kicked  me  until  I  had 
to  stand  up,  but  I  fell  down  again,  and  all  the 
kicking  in  Germany  could  not  have  brought  me 
to  my  feet.  I  was  just  all  in.  So  they  blew 
their  whistles  and  the  sentries  in  the  barracks 


. 

246  Gunner  Depew 

awakened  two  of  the  boys,  who  came  and  car- 
ried me  in. 

All  the  time  the  sentries  were  yelling,  "  Gott 
strafe  England!"  and  "  schweinhund!  ' '  until 
you  would  have  thought  they  were  in  a  battle. 
What  their  idea  was  I  do  not  know. 

The  boys  had  a  little  water  in  a  can,  and  one* 
of  them  tore  off  part  of  the  sleeve  of  his  under- 
shirt. So  they  washed  the  gash  and  bandaged, 
it.  Believe  me,  I  was  glad  when  I  could  see 
again.  I  was  so  tired  and  worn  out  that  I  went 
to  sleep  at  once,  and  did  not  wake  up  until 
they  were  giving  us  our  barley  coffee  next 
morning. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
GERMAN   PRISON   CAMPS 

A  few  days  after  I  had  been  lashed  to  the 
barbed  wire  fence  some  of  the  German  officers 
came  to  the  barracks,  and  one  of  them  who  spoke 
very  good  English  said :  1 l  All  of  the  neutrals 
who  were  on  unarmed  ships  step  out."  Only  a 
few  stepped  out. 

Then  he  called  for  all  the  neutrals,  and  the 
Danes,  Swedes,  Norwegians,  Brazilians  and 
Spaniards  stepped  out.  But  when  I  did,  he  said, 
"  No,  not  Americans.  Americans  are  not  neu- 
tral. America  supplies  our  enemies  with  food 
and  ammunition."  He  raised  his  fist,  and  I 
thought  he  was  going  to  hit  me,  but  instead  he 
gave  me  a  shove  that  caused  me  to  fall  and  get 
a  little  cut  on  the  head.  Then  the  sentries 
pushed  me  over  with  the  British  and  the  French. 

After  that  they  took  the  Norwegians,  Swedes 
and  Danes  to  separate  barracks,  and  gave  them 
clothes  and  beds  and  the  same  rations  as  the 
German  soldiers.  When  I  saw  this  I  made  a 
kick  and  said  I  was  a  neutral,  too,  and  ought  to 
get  the  same  treatment  as  the  Scandinavians. 
They  took  me  to  the  officers  again,  kicked  me 
about  and  swore  at  me,  and  the  only  answer  I 
got  was  that  America  would  suffer  for  all  she 

247 


248  Gunner  Depew 

had  done  for  the  Allies.    Then  I  was  sent  back 
to  the  barracks  again. 

The  next  day  at  about  1  o'clock  they  took  us 
from  the  barracks  and  drilled  us  through  the 
swamps.  The  men  began  to  fall  one  by  one, 
some  crying  or  swearing,  but  most  of  them  going 
along  without  a  word.  Those  who  went  down 
were  smashed  in  the  head  with  rifle  butts  or 
belts. 

Finally  we  arrived  at  a  little  railroad  station, 
and  had  to  stand  in  the  snow  for  over  an  hour 
while  the  engine  ran  up  and  down  the  tracks 
hooking  on  cars.  When  we  finally  got  in  the 
cars  we  were  frozen  stiff.  I  could  hardly  walk, 
and  some  of  the  boys  simply  could  not  move 
without  intense  pain. 

They  loaded  twelve  men  into  each  compart- 
ment, and  detailed  a  guard  of  six  men  to  each 
car.  The  windows  in  the  cars  were  all  smashed, 
and  everything  about  the  cars  was  dirty. 

The  sentries  in  our  compartment  took  some 
bread  out  of  their  knapsacks  and  began  to 
nibble  it.  They  also  had  tobacco  —  plenty  of 
it.  And  all  this  just  to  torture  us.  They  could 
hardly  eat  the  bread,  because  they  were  not 
hungry  at  all.  When  they  had  showed  it  to  us, 
and  pretended  to  eat  it,  and  had  laughed  all  they 
wanted  to,  they  put  it  back  in  their  knapsacks 
and  started  smoking. 

The  train  stopped  at  every  little  station  along 
the  way,  and  the  engineer  always  started  up 
again  with  awful  jerks.  Sometimes  he  would 
jerk  the  whole  train  two  or  three  times  before 


German  Prison  Camps  249 

he  got  going  again,  and  from  what  the  sentries 
said,  we  thought  he  was  doing  it  on  purpose. 
You  would  not  think  the  Huns  would  go  to  all 
that  trouble  to  annoy  us,  but  it  is  a  fact  that 
they  think  up  all  the  things  they  can  do  to  tor- 
ture one. 

Finally  the  train  stopped  at  a  town  named 
Alt-Damm,  and  there  was  a  mob  of  women  and 
children  around,  as  usual,  ready  for  us  with 
bricks  and  spit.  They  stoned  us  through  the 
car  windows,  and  laughed  and  jeered  at  us,  but 
by  this  time  we  were  so  used  to  it  that  we  did  not 
mind  much.  Only,  every  now  and  then  some 
fellow  would  get  all  he  could  stand,  and  either 
talk  back  or  make  a  pass  at  somebody.  Then 
he  would  get  his  —  either  a  bayonet  through  the 
arm  or  leg,  or  a  crash  on  the  head  with  a  gun 
butt. 

For  the  last  few  stations  before  we  got  to 
Alt-Damm  the  engineer  had  not  jerked  the  train 
much,  and  some  of  the  men  had  climbed  up  on 
the  little  shelves  in  the  cars,  which  are  for  bag- 
gage, but  which  the  men  were  sleeping  on.  As 
we  pulled  out  of  Alt-Damm  the  train  gave  a  worse 
jerk  than  usual,  and  almost  all  of  the  men  fell 
down  to  the  floor.  One  of  them  broke  his  arm 
at  the  elbow.  These  shelves  are  just  about  as 
roomy  as  the  hammocks  on  the  Pullman  cars, 
so  you  can  see  what  we  were  up  against  in  the 
way  of  comfort  when  such  small  shelves  looked 
good  to  the  men  as  bunks.  When  the  sentries 
learned  that  this  man  had  broken  his  arm  they 
laughed  a  lot,  and  one  of  them  went  up  forward 


250  Gunner  Depew 

to  tell  the  engineer.  So,  then  we  were  sure  he 
had  done  it  on  purpose.  We  pulled  a  strap  from 
one  of  the  car  windows  and  tightened  up  the 
broken  arm,  but  the  man  was  in  great  pain,  and 
became  delirious  shortly  afterwards. 

When  w©  had  pulled  up  at  the  station  in 
Stettin  one  of  the  men  jumped  out  of  the  car 
window  to  get  some  snow  to  eat,  because  we 
had  received  absolutely  no  water,  to  say  nothing 
of  food,  on  the  way.  A  sentry  saw  him  as  he 
climbed  out  of  the  car  window,  but  being  yellow, 
did  not  go  for  him,  but  just  stood  where  he  was 
and  yelled  until  four  or  five  more  Huns  came 
up.  The  man  kept  going  until  he  reached  the 
snow.  While  they  were  still  running  toward 
him,  he  ate  several  mouthfuls  and  made  snow- 
balls to  carry  back  to  the  rest  of  us. 

When  the  men  in  the  cars  saw  the  sentries 
going  toward  him,  they  all  tried  to  get  out  of 
the  window  at  onoe,  and  there  would  have  been 
a  great  little  argument,  because  the  men  were 
desperate,  and  these  Huns,  like  all  the  rest  of 
them,  were  yellow.  But  the  man  started  back 
to  the  car  as  fast  as  he  could  go,  and  the  other 
men  were  stuck  in  the  windows  and  had  to  get 
back  into  the  car  to  let  him  in.  The  Huns  got 
him  just  as  he  was  about  to  climb  back  through 
the  window,  and  bayonetted  him  twice  in  the 
arm.  But  he  held  on  to  the  snowballs  and 
divided  them  up  with  us.  The  sentries  came 
into  the  car  and  took  the  snow  from  us,  though, 
and  threw  it  away. 

After  an  eighteen  hour  ride,  without  food  or 


German  Prison  Camps  251 

drink,  we  arrived  at  Neustrelitz.  It  was  raining 
as  we  pulled  in.  As  we  went  up  the  grade  to 
the  town,  we  could  see  lights  about  a  mile  away, 
and  we  figured  that  that  was  the  camp.  The 
rain  stopped  and  we  remained  in  the  cars  for 
some  time.  Then  after  a  while,  we  knew  our 
new  guards  were  coming:  long  before  we  could 
see  them,  we  could  hear  the  racket  they  made. 
Somehow,  a  German  cannot  do  anything  ship- 
shape and  neatly,  but  always  has  to  have  a  lot 
of  noise,  and  running  around,  and  general  con- 
fusion. Four-footed  swine  are  more  orderly  in 
their  habits  than  the  Huns. 

When  they  came  up,  we  were  rousted  from 
the  cars  and  drilled  up  the  road  to  the  camp. 
When  we  got  near  the  German  barracks,  we 
were  halted  and  counted  again,  and  made  to 
stand  there  for  at  least  an  hour  after  they  had 
finished  counting  us,  shivering  like  leaves.  At 
last  they  placed  us  in  barracks,  and  those  who 
could  went  to  sleep. 

There  were  about  forty  barracks  in  the  Limey 
group  at  Neustrelitz  and  two  large  Zeppelin 
sheds.  The  barracks  were  just  about  like  those 
at  Swinemiinde  —  at  least,  they  were  no  better. 
Along  the  sides  of  the  rooms  were  long  shelves 
or  benches,  and  every  three  feet  were  boards 
set  in  grooves.  The  shelves  were  what  we  had 
to  sleep  on,  and  the  boards  in  the  grooves 
divided  them  up  so  that  only  a  certain  number 
of  men  could  use  each  bench. 

The  following  morning  we  nearly  dropped 
dead  when  the  Huns  pulled  in  a  large  wagon 


252  Gunner  Depew 

full  of  clothing.  We  thought  we  never  would 
have  anything  to  wear  but  our  underclothes.. 
They  issued  to  each  man  a  pair  of  trousers, 
thin  model,  a  thin  coat  about  like  the  seersucker 
coats  some  people  wear  in  the  summer,  an  over- 
coat about  as  warm  as  if  it  had  been  made  of 
cigarette  papers,  a  skull  cap  and  a  pair  of  shoes, 
which  were  a  day's  labor  to  carry  around.  Not 
one  of  us  received  socks,  shirts  or  underwear. 

The  toe  was  cut  from  the  right  shoe  of  the 
pair  I  received,  and  as  my  wounds  were  in  the 
right  thigh  and  my  leg  had  stiffened  up  con- 
siderably and  got  very  sore,  I  got  pretty  anxious, 
because  there  was  nothing  but  slush  underfoot, 
and  I  was  afraid  I  might  lose  my  leg.  So  I 
thought  that  if  I  went  to  the  commander  and 
made  a  kick,  I  might  get  a  good  shoe.  I  hesi- 
tated about  it  at  first,  but  finally  made  up  my 
mind  and  went  to  see  him. 

I  told  him  that  it  was  slushy  outside,  and  that 
the  water  ran  through  the  hole  in  my  shoe  and 
made  it  bad  for  my  whole  leg,  which  was 
wounded.  He  examined  the  shoe,  and  looked 
at  the  open  toe  for  some  time,  and  I  thought 
he  was  going  to  put  up  an  argument,  but  would 
give  in  finally. 

Then  he  asked  me  what  I  wanted.  I  thought 
that  was  plain  enough  to  see,  but  I  said  just 
as  easily  as  1  could  that  I  wanted  a  shoe  without 
a  hole  in  the  toe. 

"  So  the  water  runs  into  it,  does  it?  "  he 
said.  "  Well,  my  advice  to  you  is  to  get  a 
knife,  cut  a  hole  in  the  heel,  and  let  the  water 


German  Prison  Camps  253 

out."  All  the  other  swine  in  the  room  laughed 
very  loud  at  this,  and  I  guess  this  Fritz  thought 
he  was  a  great  comedian.  But  somehow  or  other, 
it  did  not  strike  me  so  funny  that  I  just  had 
to  laugh,  and  I  was  able,  after  quite  a  struggle, 
to  keep  from  even  snickering.  It  was  a  harder 
struggle  than  that  to  keep  from  doing  something 
else,  though! 

Our  meals  were  just  about  the  same  as  at 
Swinemunde  —  the  bread  was  just  as  muddy, 
the  barley  coffee  just  as  rank,  and  the  soup 
just  as  cabbageless.  The  second  morning  after 
we  had  had  our  barley  coffee,  one  of  the  sentries 
came  to  our  barracks,  which  was  number  7-B, 
and  gave  each  of  us  an  envelope  and  a  sheet  of 
writing  paper.  Then  he  told  us  to  write  to 
anybody  we  wanted  to,  after  which  he  chalked 
on  the  door  in  H"  Tetters  — 

KBIEGSGEFANGENENLAGER 

and  told  us  it  was  the  return  address.  We  were 
all  surprised,  and  asked  each  other  where  the 
hell  we  were,  because  we  had  thought  we  were 
in  Neustrelitz.  After  a  while,  we  learned  that 
it  means  "  Prisoner-of- War-Camp. "  At  first, 
though,  many  of  us  thought  it  was  the  name  of 
the  town,  and  we  got  to  calling  it  The  Brewery, 
because  the  name  ended  in  Lager.  Whatever 
beer  was  brewed  there  was  not  for  us,  though. 
I  noticed  that  all  the  time  he  was  writing 
the  word  and  giving  us  the  stationery,  the  sentry 
was  laughing  and  having  a  great  time  with  his 


254  Gunner  Depew 

own  little  self,  but  I  figured  he  was  just  acting 
German,  and  that  nothing  was  important  about  it. 

We  were  all  tickled  to  death  to  get  a  chance 
to  let  our  people  know  where  we  were,  and 
each  man  thought  a  long  time  about  what  he 
would  say,  and  who  he  would  write  to,  before 
we  ever  started  to  write.  Each  man  wanted  to 
say  all  he  could  in  the  small  space  he  had,  and 
we  wanted  to  let  our  friends  know  how  badly 
they  were  treating  us  without  saying  it  in  so 
many  words,  because  we  knew  the  Huns  would 
censor  the  letters,  and  it  would  go  hard  with 
anyone  who  complained  much.  So  most  of  the 
men  said  they  were  having  a  great  time  and 
were  treated  very  well,  and  spread  it  on  so  thick 
that  their  friends  would  figure  they  were  lying 
because  they  had  to. 

One  fellow  had  an  idea  ^at  was  better  than 
that,  though.  He  had  been  in  jail  in  Portsmouth, 
England,  for  three  months,  for  beating  up  a  con- 
stable, and  he  had  had  a  pretty  rough  time. 
So  he  wrote  a  pal  of  his  that  he  had  been  cap- 
tured by  the  Germans,  but  that  everything  was 
going  along  pretty  well.  In  fact,  he  said,  the 
only  other  trip  he  had  ever  been  on,  where  he 
had  a  better  time,  was  the  three  months'  vaca- 
tion he  had  spent  in  Portsmouth  two  years 
before,  which  he  thought  the  friend  would  remem- 
ber. He  said  that  trip  was  better  than  this 
one,  so  the  friend  could  figure  out  for  himself 
how  pleasant  this  one  was.  Everybody  thought 
this  was  a  great  idea,  but  unfortunately  not  all 
of  us  had  been  in  jail,  so  we  could  not  all  use 


German  Prison  Camps  255 

it.  "Which  was  just  as  well,  we  thought,  because 
the  Germans  would  be  suspicious  if  all  of  us 
compared  this  vacation  with  others. 

A  few  of  the  men  did  not  have  anybody  they 
could  write  to,  and  some  did  not  know  their 
friends  *  addresses,  so  they  would  write  letters 
to  friends  of  the  other  men,  and  sign  it  with 
the  friend's  nickname.  In  this  way  Mallen  got 
letters  written  to  three  people  he  knew,  one 
signed  Mallen,  another  Mai  Brown  or  Black  or 
Smith,  and  the  third,  "  Swipe  "  Robinson  or 
Jones.  "  Swipe  "  was  a  nickname  that  he  said 
he  used  to  have.  He  told  about  his  monocle 
and  asked  for  a  whole  pair  of  glasses  in  the 
first  letter,  for  tobacco  in  the  second,  and  some- 
thing else  in  the  third,  and  whatever  supplies 
the  letters  pulled,  he  promised  to  give  to  the 
men  who  let  him  use  their  last  names  and  their 
stationery. 

As  soon  as  a  man  had  finished  his  letter,  he 
had  to  go  out  to  the  center  of  the  camp,  where 
they  had  built  a  raised  platform.  There  the 
sentries  took  the  letters,  and  the  men  formed 
around  the  square.  There  were  officers  on  the 
platform  reading  the  letters.  We  thought  they 
read  them  there  in  the  open,  before  us,  so  that 
we  would  know  they  were  not  tampering  with 
the  letters,  and  we  thought  the  heavens  would 
fall  if  they  were  getting  so  unkultured  as  that. 

Finally,  all  the  men  had  finished  their  letters 
and  turned  them  over  to  the  officers,  who  read 
them.  And  then  we  saw  why  the  sentry  laughed. 

The  officers  tore  up  every  one  of  the  letters. 


256  Gunner  Depew 

They  were  anxious  that  we  would  see  them  do 
it,  so  none  of  us  would  have  any  hope  that  our 
friends  would  get  word. 

But  we  said  to  ourselves  that,  if  it  was  infor- 
mation they  wanted,  they  had  as  much  as  was 
good  for  them,  which  was  none  at  all,  because 
I  do  not  think  one  letter  in  the  bunch  had  a 
single  word  of  truth  in  it.  But  we  were  all  very 
angry  and  pretty  low  after  that,  because  it 
showed  the  Huns  still  had  plenty  of  kultur  left, 
after  all,  and  we  knew  there  was  rough  sledding 
ahead  of  us.  Also,  some  of  the  men  were  sore 
because  they  had  wasted  their  time  thinking  up 
different  ways  of  tipping  their  friends  off  to  the 
real  state  of  affairs,  and  all  for  nothing.  Mallen 
was  about  ready  to  tear  his  hair  out.  Why  they 
should  worry  about  time,  I  could  not  see.  Time 
was  the  only  thing  we  had  plenty  of,  and  I  for 
oney  thought  we  were  going  to  have  still  more 
of  it. 

Going  back  to  the  barracks  we  tried  to  sing 
"  Pack  up  your  troubles,"  but  there  was  not 
much  pep  in  it.  We  were  not  down-hearted, 
though :  at  least,  we  said  we  were  not. 

I  saw  the  L-29,  a  very  large  Zeppelin,  flying 
low  over  the  field  at  Neustrelitz,  and  I  would 
have  liked  to  have  a  crack  at  it  with  an  anti- 
aircraft gun.  It  made  an  awful  racket,  like 
everything  else  German,  and  one  of  the  sentries 
was  veiy  much  to  the  cheer-oh  when  he  saw 
and  heard  it.  He  seemed  to  think  it  was  great 
stuff.  He  said  it  would  give  somebody  hell-for- 
breakfast,  or  words  to  that  effect,  and  finished 


Kriegsgefangenensendung 


^usblfis     /^m 


PHtSnMF.aQF  WAR  MAIL. 


.{gyORp-V. 


Diilmeh  (Westf.). 


I  am  prisoner  of  war  and  stationed  at  Oiilmen,  Westf. 


My  address  is: 


Name  and  Christian  name: 

Rank: 

Regiment; 

Gefangenenlager  Oiilmen  i.  \V. 


Germany 


Postcard  sent  by  Gunner  Depew  from  the  prisoner-of-war  camp 
at  Diilmen,  Westphalia,  Germany 


German  Prison  Camps  257 


up  by  saying,  "  By  and  bye,  England 
which  means  finished.  But  I  have  learned  since 
that  the  L-29  was  brought  down  by  the  English 
before  it  Jcaputted.  them  very  much. 


CHAPTER  XX 
KULTUR  —  THE  KEAL  STUFF 

Neustrelitz  was  mainly  for  Russian  prisoners, 
and  there  were  neither  British  nor  French  sol- 
diers interned  there  —  only  sailors  of  the  mer- 
chant marine  such  as  the  men  I  was  with.  The 
Russians  were  given  far  worse  treatment  than 
any  other  prisoners.  This  was  for  two  reasons, 
as  near  as  I  could  make  out.  One  was  that  the 
Russian  would  stand  most  anything,  whereas 
the  British  and  French  could  only  be  goaded 
to  a  certain  point,  and  beyond  that  lay  trouble. 
The  other  reason  was  that  the  Russians  sent 
German  prisoners  to  Siberia,  or  at  least,  so  the 
Huns  thought,  and  Fritz  hates  the  cold.  So, 
hating  the  Russians,  and  realizing  that  they 
were  used  to  being  under-dogs,  Fritz  picked  on 
them  and  bullied  them  in  a  way  that  the  rest 
of  us  would  not  have  stood.  We  would  have 
rushed  them  and  gone  West  with  bayonets  first. 

One  of  the  Russians  told  me  that  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  war,  there  were  no  Barracks  at 
Neustrelitz.  There  were  only  barbed  wire 
entanglements  surrounded  by  a  high  fence,  and 
into  this  bare  place  thousands  of  prisoners  were 
driven.  All  their  clothes  were  taken  from  them, 

258 


Kultur  — The  Real  Stuff  259 

and  they  were  compelled  to  sleep  on  the  ground 
without  any  covering.  After  they  had  been  liv- 
ing in  this  way  for  quite  a  while,  the  Germans 
took  them  into  the  forest,  where  they  cut  down 
trees,  hauled  them  to  the  camp  and  built  the 
barracks  that  we  were  now  in. 

He  said  that  in  the  early  days,  while  they 
were  at  work  on  the  barracks,  the  Germans  put 
them  in  stables  from  which  manure  had  been 
removed,  and  that  whenever  it  rained  the  floors 
of  the  stables  would  be  nothing  but  stinking 
pools.  While  some  were  at  work,  the  others  had 
to  stay  in  these  stables,  and  all  had  to  sleep  in 
them.  They  also  dug  holes  in  the  ground  about 
six  feet  deep  for  protection  against  the  weather. 
The  Germans  would  not  let  them  have  any  tools, 
so  they  used  pieces  of  wood,  and  in  many  cases, 
only  their  hands.  The  dugouts  frequently  caved 
in  on  them. 

The  barracks  were  made  of  spruce,  and  were 
about  ninety  feet  long  and  twenty-five  feet  wide, 
and  you  can  take  it  from  me  that  as  carpenters, 
whoever  made  them  were  fine  farmers.  There 
were  cracks  in  them  that  you  could  drive  an 
automobile  through.  When  we  were  there,  each 
barracks  had  a  stove  in  the  center,  a  good  stove 
and  a  big  one,  but  at  first  it  was  of  no  use  to 
us,  because  the  Germans  would  not  give  us  coal 
or  wood  fornit.  But  after  shivering  for  a  while, 
we  began  ripping  the  boards  out  of  the  barracks, 
and  taking  the  dividing  boards  from  the  benches 
that  we  used  for  beds. 

Later,  they  gave  each  of  us  a  mattress  filled 


260  Gunner  Depew 

with  wood  shavings,  and  a  blanket  that  was 
about  as  warm  as  a  pane  of  glass.  The  mat- 
tresses were  placed  on  the  ground  in  the  bar- 
racks, which  were  very  damp,  and  after  three 
or  four  days,  the  shavings  would  begin  to  rot 
and  the  mattress  to  stink.  In  order  to  keep 
warm  we  slept  as  close  together  as  we  could, 
which  caused  our  various  diseases  to  spread 
rapidly. 

When  we  were  receiving  our  rations,  the  sen- 
tries would  offer  us  an  extra  ration  if  we  would 
take  a  lash  from  their  belts.  We  were  so  hungry 
that  many  and  many  a  man  would  go  up  and 
take  a  swat  in  any  part  of  his  body  from  the 
heavy  leather  belts  with  brass  tongue  and  buckle, 
just  to  get  a  little  more  "  shadow  "  soup  or 
barley  coffee  or  mud  bread. 

One  morning  the  sentries  picked  out  ten  men 
from  our  barracks,  of  which  I  was  one,  and 
drilled  us  over  a  field  near  the  kuche.  There 
was  a  large  tank  in  the  field  and  we  had  to  pump 
water  into  it.  It  was  very  cold,  and  we  were 
weak  and  sick,  so  we  would  fall  one  after 
another,  not  caring  whether  we  ever  got  up  or 
not.  Fritz  would  smash  those  who  fell  with  his 
rifle  butt.  We  asked  for  gloves,  because  our 
hands  were  freezing,  but  all  we  got  was 
"  Nichts." 

After  we  had  been  there  for  about  an  hour  and 
a  half,  one  of  our  men  became  very  sick,  so  that 
I  thought  he  was  going  to  die,  and  when  he 
fell  over,  I  reported  it  to  a  sentry.  The  sentry 
came  over,  saw  him  lying  in  the  snow,  yelled, 


Kultur  —  The  Real  Stuff  261 

"  Schwein,  nicht  krank!  "  grabbed  him  by  the 
shoulder,  and  pulled  him  all  the  way  across  the 
field  to  the  office  of  the  camp  commander.  Then 
he  was  placed  in  the  guard  house,  where  he 
remained  for  two  days.  The  next  thing  we  knew, 
the  Russians  had  been  ordered  to  make  a  box, 
and  were  being  marched  to  the  guard  house  to 
put  him  in  it  and  bury  him. 

I  went  over  to  the  guard  house  at  the  time, 
and  struck  up  quite  a  friendship  with  one  of  the 
Russians.  I  would  talk  to  him  in  Russian,  and 
he  would  try  to  reply  in  English,  because  he 
wanted  to  practice  it.  After  a  while  we  would 
switch  —  I  would  talk  in  English,  and  he  in 
Russian,  so  that  we  would  also  get  practice 
in  understanding  each  other's  language. 

He  said  he  did  not  know  how  long  he  had  been 
there,  but  that  it  had  been  long  enough,  and 
also  that  when  he  was  taken  prisoner,  he  was 
transferred  from  camp  to  camp  so  many  times 
that  he  had  lost  count,  and  that  each  time  he 
and  the  other  prisoners  were  without  food  on 
the  journeys,  which  they  had  to  make  on  foot. 
He  said  that  some  of  the  marches  had  been  six 
days  long  and  one  was  nine,  and  that  they  were 
not  given  any  food  at  all  on  the  way,  but  had 
to  live  off  of  whatever  weeds  or  vegetables  they 
could  find  as  they  went  along  the  way,  or  take 
when  the  guards  were  not  looking.  Whenever  a 
prisoner  was  caught  getting  food  from  a  field, 
he  was  killed  immediately.  He  said  that  those 
who  could  not  hold  out  would  fall  all  along  the 
road,  and  that  the  next  guard  who  came  along 


262  Gunner  Depew 

on  the  flank  of  the  column  would  simply  stick  his 
bayonet  into  the  prisoner  and  leave  him  there. 

There  were  two  brothers  in  the  party  of  pris- 
oners, and  when  one  of  them  became  very  sipk 
and  weak,  the  other  carried  him  on  his  shoulder. 
A  guard  saw  it  and  killed  them  both  with  his 
rifle  butt. 

Another  thing  at  Neustrelitz,  that  was  pretty 
hard  to  stand,  was  the  pretty  habit  the  Huns  had 
of  coming  up  to  the  barbed  wire  and  teasing 
us  as  though  we  were  wild  animals  in  a  cage. 
Sometimes  there  would  be  crowds  of  people  lined 
along  the  wire  throwing  things  at  us,  and  spit- 
ting, and  having  a  great  time  generally.  It  was 
harder  than  ever  when  a  family  party  would 
arrive,  with  Vater  und  Mutter,  and  maybe  Gros- 
vater  und  Grosmutter  and  all  the  little  boche 
kinder,  because,  as  you  probably  know,  the  Ger- 
mans take  food  with  them  whenever  they  go 
on  a  party,  no  matter  what  kind,  and  they  would 
stand  there  and  stare  at  us  like  the  boobs  they 
were,  eating  all  the  time  —  and  we  so  hungry 
that  we  could  have  eaten  ourselves,  almost. 
After  they  had  stared  a  while,  they  would  begin 
to  feel  more  at  home,  and  then  would  start  the 
throwing  and  spitting  and  the  "  schweinhund  ' 
sangerfest,  and  they  would  have  a  great  time 
generally.  Probably,  when  they  got  home,  they 
would  strike  off  a  medal  for  themselves  in  honor 
of  the  visit.  Wearing  medals  for  sinking  the 
Lu-sitania,  and  playing  hell  generally,  is  the 
favorite  German  exercise. 

Then,  too,  there  were  always  Hun  soldiers  on 


Kultur  — The  Real  Stuff  263 

leave  or  off  duty,  who  made  it  a  point  to  pay 
us  a  visit,  and  though  I  do  not  think  they  were 
as  bad  as  the  civvies,  especially  the  women,  they 
were  bad  enough.  Mallen  was  telling  me  once 
that  this  Kipling,  who  is  a  British  writer,  and 
as  you  probably  know,  has  written  lots  of  books 
about  Limey  soldiers,  wrote  some  poetry  once 
which  says  that  women  are  worse  than  men  at 
this  kind  of  thing.  I  really  believe  he  must 
have  meant  German  women.  If  he  did  not,  he 
could  get  some  pointers  from  them,  and  if  any- 
body ever  argues  with  Kipling  about  his  poetry 
not  being  right,  he  can  prove  it  is,  by  the  way 
the  German  women  treat  all  the  Allied  prisoners. 

I  never  spoke  to  one  of  our  boys  in  the  prison 
camps  who  did  not  hate  the  Hun  women  worse 
than  the  men.  We  heard  there  was  a  law  in 
Germany  against  any  women  wearing  corsets, 
and  Mallen  said  he  thought  that  would  start  a 
revolution,  because  he  said  if  any  women  ever 
needed  corsets,  it  was  the  German  women. 

We  had  one  bucket  in  each  barracks,  and  as 
these  buckets  were  used  for  both  washing  and 
drinking,  they  were  always  dirty.  We  boiled 
the  water  when  we  washed  the  clothes,  to  get 
rid  of  the  cooties,  and  that  left  a  settling  in  it 
that  looked  just  like  red  lead.  We  had  to  get 
the  water  from  a  hydrant  outside  of  the  bar- 
racks, and  for  a  while  we  drank  it.  But  after 
several  of  the  boys  had  gone  West  and  we  could 
not  figure  out  why,  a  man  told  us  he  thought 
the  water  was  poisoned,  and  a  Russian  doctor, 
who  was  a  prisoner,  slipped  us  word  about  it 


264  Gunner  Depew 

also.  So,  after  that,  very  few  of  us  drank 
water  from  the  hydrant.  I  was  scared  stiff  at 
first,  because  I  had  had  some  of  the  water,  but 
after  that  I  did  not  touch  hydrant  water. 

It  was  a  good  thing  for  us  that  there  was 
always  plenty  of  snow  in  Germany,  and  even 
luckier  that  the  Huns  did  not  shoot  us  for  eating 
it.  It  was  about  the  only  thing  they  did  not 
deprive  us  of  —  it  was  not  verboten. 

I  thought  I  knew  what  tough  cooties  were,  in 
the  trenches,  but  they  were  regular  mollycoddles 
compared  to  the  pets  we  had  in  the  prison  camps. 
After  we  boiled  our  clothes,  we  would  be  free 
from  them  for  not  more  than  two  hours,  and 
then  they  would  come  back,  with  reinforcements, 
thirsting  for  vengeance. 

The  men  would  sit  in  the  barracks  with  their 
shirts  off  searching  for  the  cooties,  and  they 
got  to  calling  it  *  *  reading  the  news. ' '  It  looked 
just  as  though  they  were  reading  a  newspaper. 
It  is  not  a  very  nice  thing  to  talk  about,  but 
you  can  figure  for  yourself  how  swarming  with 
lice  we  were  when  I  tell  you  that  we  even  had 
them  on  our  shoestrings  and  in  our  eyebrows. 

It  is  real  labor  "  reading  the  news,"  and  I 
got  sick  of  doing  it,  so  I  figured  out  a  way  of 
getting  rid  of  my  little  friends.  It  was  bitter 
cold  at  night,  so  I  soaked  my  shirt  in  the  water- 
bucket  and  then  hung  it  on  the  barbed  wire, 
thinking  I  could  freeze  them  out.  Next  morning 
it  was  frozen  stiff  and  hard  as  a  rock,  and  I 
took  it  back  in  the  barracks  and  dried  it.  It 
took  a  long  time,  and  I  did  not  see  a  single 


Kultur  —  The  Real  Stuff  265 

cootie.  So  I  was  all  swelled  up  about  it,  and  I 
told  the  other  fellows  I  had  done  the  trick  at 
last,  and  the  boys  figured  that  they  would  have 
the  barbed  wire  covered  with  shirts  every  night. 

But  when  it  was  dry  and  I  had  put  it  on,  I 
found  out  that  you  cannot  freeze  them.  And 
how  they  did  kick  me!  I  think  they  were  hun- 
grier than  ever,  because  they  had  not  had  any- 
thing to  nibble  at  all  night,  and  the  fresh  air 
gave  them  an  extra  appetite.  So  there  were  no 
more  shirts  hung  out  on  the  barbed  wire. 

The  camp  at  Neustrelitz  was  surrounded  by 
big  dogs,  which  were  kept  just  outside  the  barbed 
wire.  We  had  them  going  all  the  time.  Every 
once  in  a  while,  some  fellow  would  throw  a 
stone  at  a  dog  and  he  would  make  an  awful 
racket,  and  the  next  thing  we  knew,  there  was 
Fritz  coming  like  a  shot,  with  musket  at  his  hip, 
just  as  they  carry  them  in  a  charge,  and  blowing 
whistles  at  each  other  until  they  were  blue  in 
the  face.  Whenever  they  thought  some  one  was 
escaping,  they  ran  twice  as  fast  as  I  ever  saw 
them  run,  except  when  the  Foreign  Legion  was 
on  their  heels  at  Dixmude. 

When  they  got  up  to  the  dogs,  they  would 
first  talk  to  them  and  then  kick  them,  and  after 
that,  they  would  rest  their  rifles  on  the  wire 
and  yell  "  Zuruck!  "  at  us.  We  all  enjoyed 
this  innocent  pastime  very  much,  and  we  were 
glad  they  had  the  dogs. 

There  were  some  things  the  Huns  did  that  you 
just  could  not  explain.  For  instance,  one  of  the 
Eussians  walked  out  of  the  ktiche,  as  we  were 


266  Gunner  Depew 

passing,  and  we  heard  a  bang!  and  the  Russian 
keeled  over  and  went  West.  Now,  he  had  not 
done  anything,  and  the  other  Russians  said  he 
had  behaved  himself,  worked  hard  and  had  never 
had  any  trouble.  They  just  killed  him,  and  that 
is  all  there  is  to  it.  But  not  one  of  us  could 
figure  out  why. 

After  we  had  been  at  Neustrelitz  for  three 
weeks,  they  drilled  us  out  of  the  camp  to  a 
railway  station,  and  stood  us  in  the  snow  for  four 
hours  waiting  for  the  train.  We  were  exhausted 
and  began  falling,  one  by  one,  and  each  time  one 
of  us  fell,  the  sentries  would  yell,  "  Nicht 
krank!  "  and  give  us  the  rifle  butt.  We  had  our 
choice  of  standing  up  and  dying  or  falling  down 
and  being  killed,  and  it  was  a  fine  choice  to  have 
to  make. 

The  cars  finally  pulled  in,  and  as  usual,  the 
windows  were  smashed,  the  doors  open,  and  the 
compartments  just  packed  with  snow.  When  we 
saw  this,  we  knew  we  were  going  to  get  worse 
treatment,  even,  than  we  had  been  getting,  and 
many  of  us  wanted  to  die.  It  had  not  been 
unusual  for  some  of  the  men  to  tell  the  Germans 
to  shoot  them,  at  Neustrelitz,  but  they  never 
would  when  we  wanted  them  to,  and  it  seemed 
as  though  it  was  always  a  man  who  wanted  to 
live  who  did  get  it  and  went  West. 

But  when  they  were  drilling  us  into  the  cars, 
one  of  the  men  had  all  he  could  stand,  so  he 
got  out  of  the  car  they  had  just  put  him  in, 
and  began  to  dance  around  so  that  they  could 
not  help  seeing  him.  A  sentry  yelled  at  him 


Kultur  — The  Real  Stuff  267 

and  started  over  to  where  he  was  jumping 
around,  and  the  Limey  yelled  back,  "  Who  the 
hell  do  you  thing  you  are,  you  dirty  German 

!  "  and  we  thought  he  surely  would 

get  his. 

But  instead  of  plugging  him,  the  sentry  took 
him  by  the  arm  and  put  nim  in  his  own  compart- 
ment, and  late  that  night  gave  him  a  cigarette 
stub.  So  you  see,  when  you  want  to  die,  they 
will  not  kill  you. 

However,  all  of  us  nearly  got  killed  when  we 
reached  Wittenberg.  When  the  train  stopped 
there,  we  saw  a  big  wagon-load  of  sliced  bread 
on  the  station  platform  and  we  all  stared  at  it 
We  stood  it  as  long  as  we  could,  and  then  we 
made  a  rush  for  it.  But  when  we  got  nearer, 
we  saw  that  there  were  four  sentries  guarding 
it  and  four  women  issuing  it  out  to  the  German 
soldiers.  They  would  not  give  us  any,  of  course. 

So  we  stood  around  and  watched  the  Huns 
eat  it,  while  they  and  the  women  laughed  at  us, 
and  pretended  that  they  were  starving  and  would 
groan  and  rub  their  stomachs  and  say,  "  NicJits 
zu  essen,"  to  each  other,  and  then  grab  a  big 
hunk  of  bread  and  eat  it.  What  we  did  not  say 
to  them  was  very  little  indeed.  We  were  cer- 
tainly wild  if  any  men  ever  were. 

Then  some  of  us  said  we  were  going  to  get 
some  of  that  bread  if  we  went  West  for  it  So 
we  started  a  fight,  and  while  they  were  attending 
to  some  of  us,  the  others  grabbed  and  hid  all 
the  bread  they  could.  They  rousted  us  back 
into  the  cars  and  we  were  just  starting  to  divide 


268  Gunner  Depew 

up  the  bread  when  they  caught  us  with  it  and 
took  it  away.  We  were  wilder  than  ever  then, 
but  we  could  not  do  anything. 

It  got  colder  after  we  left  Wittenberg,  and 
the  snow  blew  into  the  cars  through  the  windows 
and  doors  until  we  were  afraid  to  sleep  for  fear 
of  freezing.  It  was  the  worst  night  I  have  ever 
seen,  and  the  coal  bunkers  on  the  Yarrowdaie 
seemed  like  a  palace  compared  to  the  compart- 
ments, because  we  could  at  least  move  around 
in  the  ship,  while  in  the  train  we  could  not 
move  at  all,  and  were  packed  so  close  that  we 
could  not  even  stretch  our  legs  and  arms.  Some 
of  the  men  did  die,  but  not  in  my  compartment, 
though  most  of  us  were  frost-bitten  about  the 
face. 

We  thought-  that  night  would  never  end,  but 
day  came  finally,  and  though  it  seemed  to  get 
colder  and  colder,  we  did  not  mind  it  so  much. 
At  about  eleven  that  morning,  we  arrived  at  a 
place  called  Minden  and  saw  a  prison  camp 
there  —  just  a  stockade  near  the  tracks  with  the 
boys  out  in  the  open.  We  waved  to  them,  and 
they  waved  back  and  gave  a  cheer-oh  or  two. 
We  felt  sorry  for  them,  because  we  knew  we 
were  not  going  to  that  camp,  and  from  what 
little  we  saw,  we  knew  we  could  not  be  going 
to  a  worse  place  than  they  were  in.  I  shall 
never  forget  Minden,  because  it  was  here  that  I 
received  the  only  cigarette  I  had  while  I  was 
in  Germany. 

Minden  is  quite  a  railway  center,  I  guess,  and 
when  we  pulled  into  the  depot,  we  saw  many 


Kultur  —  The  Real  Stuff  269 

troops  going  to  the  front  or  coming  back.  As 
at  all  important  German  railway  stations,  there 
was  a  Eed  Cross  Booth  on  the  platform,  with 
German  girls  handing  out  barley  coffee  and  other 
things  to  the  German  soldiers.  I  saw  a  large 
shanty  on  the  platform,  with  a  Bed  Cross  painted 
over  the  door.  I  saw  the  girls  giving  barley 
coffee  to  the  soldiers,  and  1  thought  I  would 
have  a  try  at  it  and  at  least  be  polite  enough 
to  give  the  girls  a  chance  of  refusing  me,  I 
was  refused  all  right,  but  they  were  so  nasty 
about  it  that  I  put  down  my  head  and  let  some- 
thing slip.  I  do  not  remember  just  what  it 
was,  but  it  was  not  very  complimentary,  I  guess. 
Anyhow,  I  did  not  think  anyone  near  there 
understood  English,  but  evidently  some  one 
heard  me  who  did,  for  I  got  an  awful  boot  that 
landed  me  ten  or  twelve  feet  away.  I  fell  on 
my  hands  and  knees,  and  about  a  yard  away  I 
saw  a  cigarette  stub.  I  dived  for  it  like  a  man 
falling  on  a  football,  and  when  I  came  up,  that 
stub  was  safely  in  my  pocket.  And  it  stayed 
there  until  I  reached  Diilmen  and  had  a  chance 
to  light  it  behind  the  barracks.  If  any  of  the 
other  men  had  smelled  real  tobacco,  they  would 
probably  have  murdered  me,  and  I  could  not 
have  blamed  them  for  it. 

That  was  the  first  and  the  last  cigarette  I  got 
in  Germany,  and  you  can  believe  me  when  I  say 
that  I  enjoyed  it.  There  was  not  much  to  it, 
but  I  smoked  it  until  there  was  not  enough  left 
to  hold  in  my  mouth,  and  then  I  used  what  was 
left  and  mixed  it  with  the  bark  that  we  made 


270  Gunner  Depew 

cigarettes  out  of.  Incidentally,  this  bark  was 
great  stuff.  I  do  not  know  what  kind  of  tree 
it  was  from,  but  it  served  the  purpose.  When- 
ever a  fellow  wanted  to  smoke  and  lit  one  of 
these  bark  cigarettes,  a  few  puffs  were  enough. 
He  did  not  want  to  smoke  again  for  some  time 
afterward,  and  like  as  not,  he  did  not  want  to 
eat  either.  They  were  therefore  very  valuable. 

It  is  very  hard  to  get  matches  in  the  camps, 
and  when  any  prisoner  does  get  hold  of  one, 
it  is  made  to  last  a  long  time.  Here  is  how  we 
make  a  match  last.  Some  one  gives  up  the  sleeve 
of  his  coat,  and  the  match  is  carefully  lit,  and 
the  coat  sleeve  burned  to  a  crisp.  Then  we 
take  a  button  from  our  coats  —  the  buttons  are 
brass  with  two  holes  in  them  —  pass  a  shoe- 
string through  the  holes,  knot  the  ends,  and  with 
the  button  in  the  center  of  the  string,  buzz  it 
around  as  you  have  seen  boys  do,  with  the  string 
over  both  hands,  moving  the  hands  together  and 
apart  until  the  button  revolves  very  fast. 

We  then  put  a  piece  of  flint  against  the  crisped 
cloth,  and  buzz  the  button  against  it  until  a  spark 
makes  the  crisp  glow,  and  from  this  we  would 
light  our  bark  cigarettes.  I  do  not  think  any 
man  in  the  world  could  inhale  one  of  these  bark 
cigarettes:  some  of  us  tried  and  went  right  to 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
A  VISIT  FROM  ME.  GERARD 

Late  that  night  we  arrived  at  Diilmen,  West- 
phalia. "VVe  were  rousted  out  of  the  carriages, 
mustered  on  the  platform,  counted,  then  drilled 
through  the  streets.  In  spite  of  the  lateness, 
the  streets  were  pretty  well  filled  with  people, 
and  they  zig-zagged  us  through  all  the  streets 
they  could,  so  that  all  the  people  would  have  a 
chance  to  see  the  crazy  men,  as  they  called  us. 
Most  of  the  people  were  women,  and  as  soon 
as  they  saw  us  coming,  they  began  singing  the 
Watch  on  the  Rhine  or  some  other  German  song, 
and  it  was  funny  to  see  windows  opening  and 
fat  fraus,  with  night-caps  on,  sticking  their  heads 
out  of  the  windows.  They  would  give  us  a  quick 
once-over,  and  then  pipe  up  like  a  boatswain: 
"Schwewhund  —  Vaterland  —  Wacht  am  Rhein" 
—  all  kinds  of  things  and  all  mixed  up. 

So  we  gave  them  "  Tipperary  "  and  "  Pack 
up  Your  Troubles,"  and  showed  them  how  to 
sing.  Our  guards  had  no  ear  for  music  and 
tried  to  stop  us,  but  though  they  knocked  several 
men  down,  we  did  not  stop  until  we  had  finished 
the  song.  Then,  after  we  had  admitted  to  each 
other  that  we  were  not  downhearted,  we  shut  up. 

We  would  have  done  so,  anyway,  because  by 

271 


272  Gunner  Depew 

this  time  we  were  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town, 
and  we  needed  all  the  breath  we  had.  The  road 
we  were  on  was  just  one  long  sheet  of  ice,  and 
we  could  hardly  walk  more  than  four  steps 
without  slipping  and  falling.  My  shoes  had 
wooden  soles,  and  it  was  just  one  bang  after 
another,  with  the  ice  and  myself  trying  to  see 
which  could  hit  the  hardest.  Every  time  we  fell 
—  smash!  came  a  rifle  over  the  back. 

I  was  getting  pretty  tired,  so  I  said  to  some 
of  the  fellows  that  I  was  going  to  sit  down  and 
rest,  and  they  said  they  would  be  damned  if 
they  did  not,  also.  So  we  dropped  out  and 
waited  until  the  guards  behind  had  just  about 
caught  up  with  us,  and  then  we  would  go  on. 
We  did  this  several  times  until  they  got  on  to 
us,  and  we  could  not  do  it  any  more. 

Up  the  road  a  piece  I  fell  again,  and  this 
time  I  thought  I  did  not  care  what  happened, 
so  I  just  sat  there  in  the  middle  of  the  road 
until  Fritz  came  up.  But  instead  of  giving  me 
the  bayonet,  he  made  me  take  off  my  shoes  — 
that  is,  he  took  them  off  of  me  with  a  knife 
through  the  strings  —  and  I  had  to  walk  the 
rest  of  the  way  in  my  bare  feet.  It  was  about 
four  miles  altogether  from  the  station  to  the 
camp. 

When  we  got  near  the  camp,  all  the  boys  came 
out  of  the  barracks  and  lined  up  along  the 
barbed  wire,  and  yelled  us  a  welcome.  We  asked 
them  if  they  were  downhearted,  and  they  said 
no,  and  we  said  we  were  not  either.  We  could 
hardly  see  them,  but  they  began  yelling  again 


A  Visit  from  Mr.  Gerard  273 

when  we  got  nearer,  and  asked  us,  "  Is  there 
anyone  there  from  Queens  town?  "  and  then  Hull, 
and  Portsmouth,  and  Dover,  and  Toronto  and  a 
lot  of  other  places. 

I  did  not  pay  much  attention  until  I  heard, 
"  Any  Americans  there?  "  and  I  yelled  back, 
"  Yes,  where  are  you?  " 

"  Barracks  6-B,  Gruppe  3." 

"  Where  from?  "  I  yeUed. 

"  Boston.    Where 're  you  from?  " 

"  The  U.  S.  A.  and  Atlantic  ports.  See  you 
later. " 

So,  the  next  morning,  I  went  over  to  his  bar- 
racks and  asked  for  the  Yank.  They  pointed 
him  out  to  me,  where  he  was  lying  on  the  floor. 
I  went  over  and  laid  down  with  him,  and  we 
had  quite  a  talk.  I  will  not  give  his  name 
here  for  certain  reasons. 

He  had  received  several  wounds  at  the  time 
he  was  taken  prisoner.  He  had  been  in  the 
Canadian  service  for  two  years.  We  used  to  talk 
about  New  York  and  Boston  and  the  different 
places  we  knew  in  both  towns,  and  we  also 
talked  a  lot  about  the  rotten  treatment  we  were 
receiving,  and  tried  to  cook  up  some  plan  of 
escape.  But  every  one  we  could  think  of  had 
been  used  by  some  one  else,  and  either  had 
failed,  or  the  Huns  had  fixed  it  so  the  plan 
could  not  be  tried  again.  We  doped  out  some 
pretty  wild  schemes  at  that.  Altogether,  we 
became  great  pals,  and  were  together  as  much 
as  possible  at  Diilmen.  The  day  I  left  the  camp, 
he  gave  me  a  ring  made  from  a  shell,  and  told 


274  Gunner  Depew 

me  to  get  it  safely  back  to  the  States,  but  some 
one  stole  it  at  Brandenburg. 

One  day  while  I  was  in  his  barracks,  an  Eng- 
lishman stepped  out  of  the  door  for  some  reason 
or  other,  and  though  he  did  not  say  a  word  to 
Fritz,  in  two  minutes  he  was  dead,  in  cold  blood. 
We  never  knew  why  they  killed  him. 

At  Swinemunde  and  Neustrelitz,  I  must  admit 
that  the  Germans  had  us  pretty  badly  buffaloed, 
but  at  Diilmen  the  prisoners  were  entirely  dif- 
ferent. Diilmen  was  the  receiving  camp  for  the 
whole  western  front,  and  the  prisoners  there  got 
to  be  pretty  tough  eggs,  as  far  as  Fritz  was 
concerned,  before  they  had  been  in  camp  many 
days.  They  thought  nothing  of  picking  a  fight 
with  a  sentry  and  giving  him  a  good  battle,  even 
though  he  was  armed  with  rifle  and  bayonet. 
We  soon  learned  that  unless  his  pals  are  around, 
a  German  will  not  stand  by  his  arguments  with 
his  fists.  In  other  words,  if  he  can  out-talk  you, 
he  will  beat  you  up,  but  if  he  cannot,  it  is  a 
case  of  "  Here  comes  Heinie  going  back." 

The  Russian  prisoners  at  Diilmen  were  cer- 
tainly a  miserable  looking  bunch.  They  spent 
most  of  their  time  wandering  around  the  Russian 
barracks,  hunting  for  rotten  potato  peelings  and 
other  garbage,  which  they  would  eat.  When  they 
saw  Fritz  throw  out  his  swill,  they  would  dive 
right  through  the  barbed  wire  one  after  another, 
and  their  hands  and  face  and  clothes  were 
always  torn  from  it.  It  was  unhealthy  to  stand 
between  the  Russians  and  their  garbage  prey  — 
they  were  BO  speedy  that  nothing  stopped  them. 


A  Visit  from  Mr.  Gerard  275 

One  morning,  just  after  barley-coffee  time,  I 
came  out  of  the  barracks  and  saw  an  Australian 
arguing  with  the  sentry.  I  was  not  only  curious, 
but  anxious  to  be  a  good  citizen,  as  they  say, 
so  I  went  up  and  slung  an  ear  at  them.  The 
Australian  had  asked  Fritz  what  had  been  done 
with  the  flag  that  the  Huns  were  going  to  fly 
from  the  Eiffel  Tower  in  Paris. 

That  was  too  deep  for  Fritz,  so  the  Australian 
answered  it  himself.  "  Don't  you  know,  Fritz? 
Well,  we  have  no  blankets,  you  know." 

Still  the  sentry  did  not  get  it.  So  the  Aus- 
tralian carefully  explained  to  me  —  so  that  Fritz 
could  hear  —  that  the  Germans  had  no  blankets 
and  were  using  the  flag  to  wrap  their  cold  feet  in. 

This  started  a  fight,  of  course  —  the  German 
idea  of  a  fight,  that  is.  The  sentry,  being  a 
very  brave  man  for  a  German,  blew  his  whistle 
very  loudly,  and  sentries  came  from  all  direc- 
tions. So  we  beat  it  to  the  Australian's  bar- 
racks, and  there  I  found  the  second  American 
in  the  camp.  He  was  a  barber  named  Stimson, 
from  one  of  the  western  states.  He  had  heard 
I  was  there  as  well  as  the  Boston  man  in  the 
Canadian  service,  but  he  had  been  too  sick  to 
look  us  up,  and  in  fact  did  not  give  a  damn 
what  happened,  he  was  so  miserable.  He  had 
been  wounded  several  times,  and  died  in  a  day 
or  two.  I  never  knew  how  he  came  to  be  in  the 
Australian  service. 

Those  two  and  myself  were  the  only  Ameri- 
cans I  knew  of  in  this  prison  camp  —  whether 
in  Canadian,  Australian,  or  French  service.  The 


276  Gunner  Depew 

other  two  had  been  captured  in  uniform,  so 
there  was  no  chance  of  their  being  released. 

Diilmen  was  very  near  the  Dutch  border,  and 
as  it  was  quite  easy  to  get  out  of  the  camp, 
attempts  at  escape  were  frequent.  Most  of 
those  who  ran  away  were  brought  back,  though. 
The  Germans  were  so  easy  on  those  who  tried 
to  run  away  that  I  almost  thought  they  were 
encouraging  them.  One  chap  was  doing  his  ten 
days  in  the  guard-house  for  the  sixth  time  while 
I  was  there  —  that  is,  he  had  just  about  com- 
pleted his  period  of  detention.  He  claimed  that 
the  sixth  time  he  had  really  got  across  the 
border,  and  was  arrested  in  a  little  town  by  the 
Dutch  authorities  and  turned  over  to  the  Ger- 
mans. That  is  against  the  law  in  most  coun- 
tries, but  he  swore  it  was  the  truth.  I  am  not 
so  sure,  myself.  He  got  away  for  the  seventh 
time  while  I  was  at  Diilmen  and  was  not 
returned. 

Ten  days  in  the  guard-house  is  not  such  a  light 
punishment  after  all,  because  water  three  times 
a  day  is  all  the  prisoner  receives  during  that 
time,  but  it  is  pretty  mild  compared  to  some  of 
the  things  the  Huns  do. 

One  morning  I  thought  for  sure  I  was  going 
cafard.  I  was  just  fed  up  on  the  whole  business, 
and  sick  of  doing  nothing  but  suffer.  So  I 
strolled  along,  sticking  my  head  into  barracks 
doors,  sometimes  trying  to  have  a  talk,,  other 
times  trying  to  pick  a  fight.  It  was  all  one  to 
me:  I  just  wanted  something  to  do.  I  found 
what  I  wanted,  all  right. 


A  Visit  from  Mr.  Gerard  277 

I  had  quite  a  talk  with  a  sentry  in  front  of  a 
barracks.  It  must  have  lasted  three-quarters  of 
an  hour.  He  did  not  know  what  I  was  calling 
him,  and  I  did  not  know  what  he  was  calling  me. 
I  could  have  handled  him  all  right,  but  another 
sentry  came  up  on  my  blind  side  and  grabbed 
me,  and  the  talk  was  over. 

They  dragged  me  to  the  commander  of  the 
camp  and  he  instructed  them  to  give  me  a  bath. 
So  they  took  me  to  the  bath-house,  where  I  was 
stripped  and  lashed.  All  the  time  they  were 
whipping  me,  I  was  thinking  what  a  joke  it  was 
on  me,  because  I  had  been  looking  for  excitement 
and  had  got  more  than  I  wanted,  so  I  laughed, 
and  the  Huns  thought  I  was  crazy  sure. 

Now,  the  Germans  have  a 'kind  of  blue  salve, 
on  the  order  of  soft  soap.  When  you  rub  it  on 
your  face  and  take  it  off  with  a  stick,  it  gives 
you  as  close  a  shave  as  any  barber  could.  So 
they  smeared  it  all  over  me,  and  I  quit  laughing. 
It  felt  like  lye,  where  I  had  been  lashed.  I  was 
dumped  into  a  vat  of  hot  water,  and  at  the  same 
time  my  clothes  were  given  a  boiling,  which  was 
good  for  them. 

When  I  came  out  of  that  bath,  there  was  not 
a  hair  on  my  body,  except  my  head.  I  was  just 
like  a  peeled  onion,  but  far  weaker.  And  how 
I  did  itch  when  the  hair  began  to  sprout  again 
a  few  days  later!  It  was  a  torture  that  lasted, 
I  can  tell  you. 

Then  I  was  forced  into  my  wet  clothes  and 
marched  back  to  the  barracks.  This  bath  and 
the  stroll  through  the  snow  in  wet  clothes  just 


278  Gunner  Depew 

about  did  for  me.  Nowadays,  when  I  sit  in  a 
draft  for  a  second  and  catch  cold,  I  wonder 
that  I  am  still  alive  to  catch  it.  Having  gone 
through  Dixmude,  and  the  Dardanelles,  and  the 
sinking  of  the  Georgia,  and  four  German  prison 
camps,  and  a  few  other  things  —  I  shall  probably 
trip  over  a  hole  in  a  church  carpet  and  break 
my  neck.  That  would  be  my  luck. 

The  Eussians  were  very  fond  of  this  blue 
salve.  As  they  did  most  of  the  cooking,  and 
were  near  the  bath-houses,  they  had  a  fine 
opportunity  for  stealing  lots  of  it.  What  they 
used  it  for  I  do  not  know,  but  their  barracks 
were  full  of  it. 

There  were  all  the  diseases  you  can  think  of 
in  this  camp,  including  black  cholera  and  typhus, 
and  somebody  was  always  dying.  We  had  to 
make  coffins  from  any  wood  we  could  find.  So 
it  was  not  long  before  we  were  using  the  divid- 
ing boards  from  our  bunks,  pieces  of  flooring, 
and  in  fact,  the  walls  of  the  barracks.  The 
officers  were  quartered  in  corrugated  iron  bar- 
racks, so  they  had  to  borrow  wood  from  us  for 
their  coffins.  We  would  make  the  box  and  put 
the  body  in  it,  give  it  as  much  service  as  we 
could,  in  the  way  of  prayers  and  hymns,  and 
put  it  away  in  a  hole  near  the  barracks.  There 
was  so  much  of  it  that  a  single  death  passed 
unnoticed. 

One  morning  the  German  sentries  came  to  our 
barracks  —  they  never  came  singly  —  and  told 
us  that  an  officer  was  going  to  review  the  pris- 
oners, and  ordered  us  to  muster  up,  which  we 


A  Visit  from  Mr.  Gerard  279 

did.  I  was  the  last  man  out  of  the  barracks,  and 
on  account  of  my  wounds  I  was  slower  than  the 
rest. 

You  understand,  I  had  had  no  medical  treat- 
ment except  crepe-paper  bandages  and  water;  my 
wounds  had  been  opened  by  swimming  from  the 
Georgia  to  the  Mo  ewe,  and  they  had  been  put 
in  terrible  shape  in  the  coal  bunkers.  On 
account  of  the  poor  food  and  lack  of  treatment, 
they  had  not  even  started  to  heal.  Incidentally, 
the  only  cloth  bandages  that  any  of  us  had  were 
what  we  would  tear  from  our  clothes,  and  I  have 
seen  men  pick  up  an  old  dirty  rag  that  some 
one  else  had  had  around  his  wound  for  a  long 
time,  and  bandage  his  own  wounds  with  it. 

So  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  drag  myself  along. 
The  officer  noticed  that  I  was  out  of  line,  and 
immediately  asked  my  name  and  nationality. 
When  he  heard  "  American,"  he  could  not  say 
enough  things  about  us,  and  called  me  all  the 
swine  names  he  could  think  of. 

I  was  pretty  thin  at  this  time  and  getting 
thinner,  so  I  figured  I  might  just  as  well  have 
it  out  before  I  starved.  Besides,  I  thought,  he 
ought  to  know  that  we  are  not  used  to  being 
bawled  out  by  German  swine  in  this  country. 

So  I  told  him  so.  And  I  said  that  he  should 
not  bawl  Americans  out,  because  America  was 
neutral.  He  then  said  that  as  America  supplied 
food  and  munitions  to  the  Allies,  she  was  no 
better  than  the  rest. 

Then  I  said :  "Do  you  remember  the  Deutsch- 
landf  When  she  entered  Baltimore  and  New 


280  Gunner  Depew 

London,  she  got  all  the  cargo  she  wanted,  didn't 
she?  " 

11  Yes." 

*  *  Well,  if  you  send  over  your  merchant  marine, 
they  will  get  the  same."  For  that  answer,  he 
gave  me  ten  days  in  the  guard-house.  He  did 
not  like,  to  be  reminded  that  their  merchant 
marine  had  to  dive  under  to  keep  away  from 
the  Limeys. 

I  admit  I  was  pretty  flip  to  this  officer,  but 
who  would  not  be,  when  a  slick  German  swine 
officer  bawled  him  out? 

The  only  fun  I  had  in  the  camp  was  while  I 
was  in  the  guard-house.  There  were  Belgians, 
Frenchmen,  Russians,  Montenegrans,  Limeys, 
Australians,  Turcos,  and  Canadians  all  talking 
at  once  and  trying  to  make  themselves  under- 
stood. I  could  get  by  with  the  Britishers,  the 
French,  the  Belgians  and  the  Russians,  but  the 
Turcos  and  Montenegrans  were  beyond  me. 
Some  of  the  Britishers  could  talk  a  little  French, 
and  many  of  the  Russians  could.  And  quite  a 
few  of  the  French  and  Belgians  could  talk  Eng- 
lish, and  one  or  two  knew  a  little  Russian.  But 
no  one  in  the  bunch,  except  myself,  knew  more 
than  one  language  except  his  own,  so  our  talks 
were  always  three-  or  four-cornered,  and  the 
last  man  to  get  the  news  generally  had  it  all 
bawled  up  by  the  time  it  got  to  him. 

It  was  while  I  was  in  the  guard-house  that 
Mr.  Gerard,  the  American  ambassador,  visited 
the  camp.  He  came  to  this  camp  about  every 
six  months,  as  a  rule.  Even  in  the  German 


rO 

o 


A  Visit  from  Mr.  Gerard  281 

prison  camps,  the  men  had  somehow  got  infor- 
mation about  Mr.  Gerard's  efforts  to  improve 
the  terrible  surroundings  in  which  the  men  lived. 
Some  of  the  men  at  Diilmen  had  been  confined 
in  various  other  camps,  and  they  told  me  that 
when  Mr.  Gerard  visited  these  camps,  all  that 
the  men  did  for  a  week  or  so  afterwards  was  to 
talk  about  his  visit  and  what  he  had  said  to  them. 
We  knew  Mr.  Gerard  had  got  the  Germans  to 
make  conditions  better  in  some  of  the  worst  hell- 
holes in  Germany,  and  the  men  were  always  glad 
when  he  came  around.  They  felt  they  had  some- 
thing better  to  look  forward  to,  and  some  relief 
from  the  awful  misery. 

Mr.  Gerard  was  passing  through  the  French 
barracks,  and  a  man  I  knew  there  told  him  there 
was  an  American  there.  The  Germans  did  not 
want  him  to  see  me,  but  he  put  up  an  argument 
with  the  commanding  officer,  and  they  finally 
said  he  could  interview  me.  I  never  was  so  glad 
to  see  anyone  as  I  was  to  see  him.  The  picture 
is  still  with  me  of  him  coming  in  the  door. 
We  talked  for  about  an  hour  and  a  half,  I  guess, 
and  then  he  got  up  to  go,  and  he  said  I  would 
hear  from  him  in  about  three  weeks.  Just  think 
what  good  news  that  was  to  me! 

They  let  me  out  of  the  guard-house,  and  I 
celebrated  by  doing  all  the  damage  to  German 
sentries  that  I  could  do.  The  men  in  the  camps 
went  wild  when  they  learned  that  Ambassador 
Gerard  was  there,  for  they  said  he  was  the  only 
man  in  Germany  they  could  tell  their  troubles 
to.  The  reason  was  that  he  was  strong  for  the 


282  Gunner  Depew 

men,  no  matter  what  nationality,  and  put  his 
heart  into  the  work.  I  am  one  of  those  who 
cannot  say  enough  good  things  about  him.  Like 
many  others,  if  it  had  not  been  for  Mr.  Gerard, 
I  would  be  kaput  by  now. 

A  few  days  after  this,  I  was  slow  again  as 
we  were  marching  to  the  bread  house,  and  the 
guard  at  the  door  tripped  me.  When  I  fell,  I 
hurt  my  wounds,  which  made  me  hot.  Now,  I 
had  decided,  on  thinking  it  over,  that  the  best 
thing  to  do  was  to  be  good,  since  I  was  expecting 
to  be  released,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  tough 
luck  to  be  killed  just  before  I  was  to  be  released. 
But  I  had  been  in  the  American  navy,  and  any 
garby  of  the  U.  S.  A.  would  have  done  what  I 
did.  It  must  be  the  training  we  get,  for  when 
a  dirty  trick  is  pulled  off  on  us,  we  get  very 
nervous  around  the  hands  and  are  not  always 
able  to  control  them. 

So  I  went  for  the  sentry,  and  walloped  him 
in  the  jaw.  Then  I  received  his  bayonet  through 
the  fleshy  part  of  the  forearm.  Most  bayonet 
wounds  that  we  got  were  in  the  arm.  But  those 
arms  were  in  front  of  our  faces  at  the  time. 
The  sentries  did  not  aim  for  our  arms,  you  can 
bet  on  that.  A  wound  of  the  kind  I  got  would 
be  nothing  more  than  a  white  streak  if  properly 
attended  to,  but  I  received  absolutely  no  atten- 
tion for  it,  and  it  was  a  long  time  in  healing. 
At  that,  I  was  lucky;  another  bayonet  stroke 
just  grazed  my  stomach. 

I  had  been  at  Diilmen  for  three  weeks  when 
we  were  transferred  to  Brandenburg,  Havel, 


A  Visit  from  Mr.  Gerard  283 

which  is  known  as  "  The  Hell  Hole  of  Ger- 
many "  to  the  prisoners.  It  certainly  is  not  too 
strong  a  name  for  it,  either. 

On  the  way  we  changed  trains  at  Osnabriick, 
and  from  the  station  platform,  I  saw  German 
soldiers  open  up  with  machine  guns  on  the 
women  and  children  who  were  rioting  for  food. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
"  THE  HELL  HOLE  OF  GERMANY  » 

On  arriving  at  Brandenburg,  we  were  marched 
the  three  or  four  miles  northwest  to  the  camp. 
While  we  were  being  marched  through  the 
streets,  a  woman  walked  alongside  of  us  for 
quite  a  ways,  talking  to  the  boys  in  English  and 
asking  them  about  the  war.  She  said  she  did 
not  believe  anything  the  German  papers  printed. 
She  said  she  was  an  Englishwoman,  from  Liver- 
pool, and  that  at  the  outbreak  of  the  war,  not 
being  able  to  get  out  of  Germany,  she  and  her 
children  had  been  put  in  prison,  and  tha.t  every 
day  for  over  a  week  they  had  put  her  through 
the  third  degree;  that  her  children  had  been 
separated  from  her  and  that  she  did  not  know 
where  they  were. 

She  walked  along  with  us  for  several  blocks, 
until  a  sentry  heard  her  say  something  not  very 
complimentary  to  the  Germans,  and  chased  her 
away.  When  we  arrived  at  the  camp,  we  were 
put  into  the  receiving  barracks  and  kept  there 
six  days.  The  condition  of  these  barracks  was 
not  such  that  you  could  describe  it.  The  floors 
were  actually  nothing  but  filth.  Very  few  of 
the  bunks  remained:  the  rest  had  been  torn 
down  —  for  fuel,  I  suppose. 

284 


"  The  HeU  Hole  of  Germany  "      285 

The  day  we  were  transferred  to  the  regular 
prison  barracks,  four  hundred  Russians  and  Bel- 
gians were  buried.  Most  of  them  had  died  from 
cholera,  typhoid,  and  inoculations.  We  heard 
from  the  prisoners  there  before  us  that  the  Ger- 
mans had  come  through  the  camps  with  word 
that  there  was  an  epidemic  of  black  typhus  and 
cholera,  and  that  the  only  thing  for  the  men  to 
do  was  to  take  the  serum  treatment,  to  avoid 
catching  these  diseases.  Most  of  the  four  hun- 
dred men  had  died  from  the  inoculations.  They 
had  taken  the  Germans'  word,  had  been  inocu- 
lated, and  had  died  within  nine  hours.  Which 
shows  how  foolish  it  is  to  believe  a  German. 
None  of  us  had  any  doubt  but  what  the  serum 
was  poisonous. 

The  second  day  that  we  were  in  the  regular 
camp,  the  Germans  strung  barbed  wire  all  around 
our  barracks.  They  told  us  we  had  a  case  of 
black  typhus  among  us.  This  was  nothing  more 
nor  less  than  a  bluff,  for  not  one  of  us  had 
typhus,  but  they  put  up  the  wire,  nevertheless, 
and  we  were  not  allowed  to  go  out. 

One  day  when  I  was  loafing  around  our  bar- 
racks door,  and  not  having  anything  particu- 
larly important  to  do,  I  packed  a  nice  hard  snow- 
ball and  landed  it  neatly  behind  the  ear  of  a 
little  sentry  not  far  away.  When  he  looked 
around,  he  did  not  blow  his  whistle,  but  began 
hunting  for  the  thrower.  This  was  strange  in 
a  German  sentry,  and  I  thought  he  must  be 
pretty  good  stuff.  When  he  looked  around, 


286  Gunner  Depew 

however,  all  he  saw  was  a  man  staggering 
around  as  if  he  were  drunk.  The  man  was  the 
one  who  had  done  the  throwing,  all  right,  but 
the  sentry  could  not  be  sure  of  it,  for  surely, 
no  man  would  stay  out  in  the  open  and  invite 
accidents  like  that.  But  still,  who  had  done  it? 

So  I  just  kept  staggering  around,  and  the 
sentry  came  up  to  me  and  looked  me  over  pretty 
hard.  Then  I  thought  for  the  first  time  that 
things  might  go  hard  on  me,  but  I  figured  that 
if  I  quit  the  play-acting,  it  would  be  all  over. 
So  I  staggered  right  up  to  the  sentry  and  looked 
at  him  drunkenly,  expecting  every  moment  to 
get  one  from  the  bayonet. 

But  he  was  so  surprised  that  all  he  could  do 
was  stare.  So  I  stared  back,  pretending  that 
I  saw  two  of  him,  and  otherwise  acting  foolish. 
Then  I  guess  he  realized  for  the  first  time  that 
the  chances  of  anybody  being  drunk  in  that 
camp  were  small — -at  least,  for  the  prisoners. 
He  was  rubbing  his  ear  all  the  time,  but  finally 
the  thought  seeped  through  the  ivory  and  he 
began  to  laugh.  I  laughed,  too,  and  the  first 
thing  you  know  he  had  me  doing  it  again  — 
that  is,  the  imitation.  One  snowball  was  enough, 
I  figured. 

I  used  to  talk  to  him  quite  often  after  that. 
We  had  no  particular  love  for  each  other,  but 
he  was  gamer  than  the  other  sentries,  and  he 
did  not  call  me  schwemhimd  every  time  he  saw 
me,  so  we  got  on  very  well  together.  His  name 
must  have  been  Schwartz,  I  guess,  but  it  sounded 


"  The  HeU  Hole  of  Germany  '       287 

like  "  Swatts  "  to  me,  so  Swatts  he  was,  and 
I  was  "  Chink  "  to  him,  as  everybody  else  called 
me  that. 

One  day  he  asked  me  if  I  could  speak  French, 
and  I  said  yes.  Italian;  yes.  Russian;  yes.  No 
matter  what  language  he  might  have  mentioned, 
I  would  have  said  yes,  because  I  could  smell 
something  in  the  wind,  and  I  was  curious.  Then 
he  told  me  that  if  I  went  to  the  hospital  and 
worked  there,  I  might  get  better  meals  and 
would  not  have  to  go  so  far  for  them,  and  that 
my  knowing  all  the  languages  I  said  I  did  would 
help  me  a  great  ways  toward  getting  the  job. 

Evidently  he  had  been  told  to  get  a  man  for 
the  place,  because  he  appointed  me  to  it  then 
and  there.  He  put  me  to  work  right  away. 
We  went  over  to  one  of  the  barracks,  where  a 
case  of  sickness  had  been  reported,  and  found 
that  the  invalid  was  a  big  Barbadoes  negro 
named  Jim,  a  fireman  from  the  Voltaire.  At 
one  time  Jim  must  have  weighed  250  pounds, 
but  by  this  time,  he  was  about  two  pounds 
lighter  than  a  straw  hat,  but  still  black  and  full 
of  pep.  Light  as  he  was,  I  was  no  "  white 
hope/*  and  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  carry  him  to 
the  hospital.  Swatts  kept  right  along  behind 
me,  and  every  time  I  would  stop  to  rest,  he  would 
poke  me  with  a  broom  —  the  only  broom  I  saw 
in  Germany  —  and  laugh  and  point  to  his  ear. 

Then  I  thought  it  was  a  frame-up  and  that 
he  was  getting  even  with  me,  but  I  was  in  for 
it  then,  and  the  best  I  could  do  was  to  go  through 
with  it.  But  I  was  all  in  when  we  reached  the 


288  Gunner  Depew 

hospital.  The  first  thing  I  saw  when  we  got  in 
the  door  was  another  negro,  also  from  Barba- 
does,  and  as  tall  and  thin  as  Jim  had  once  been 
short  and  fat.  This  black  boy  and  I  made  a 
great  team,  but  I  never  knew  what  his  name  was. 
I  always  called  him  Kate,  because  night  and  day 
he  was  whistling  the  old  song,  "  Kate,  Kate, 
Meet  Me  at  the  Garden  Gate,'*  or  words  to  that 
effect.  I  have  waked  up  many  'a  night  and 
heard  that  whistle  just  about  at  the  same  place 
as  when  I  had  fallen  asleep.  It  would  not  have 
been  so  bad  if  he  had  known  all  of  it. 

I  took  Swatts'  broom  and  cleaned  up,  and 
then  asked  where  the  coal  or  wood  was.  This 
got  a  great  laugh.  It  was  quite  humorous  to 
the  men  who  had  shivered  there  for  weeks, 
maybe,  but  to  me  it  was  about  as  funny  as  a 
cry  for  help.  I  got  wood,  though,  before  I  had 
been  there  long. 

There  was  a  great  big  cupboard,  that  looked 
more  like  a  small  house,  built  against  the  wall 
of  the  hospital  barracks  in  one  corner  of  the 
room,  and  not  far  from  the  stove.     Kate  was 
the  only  patient  able  to  be  on  his  feet,  so  I 
thought  he  would  have  to  be  my  chief-cook  and 
bottle-washer  for  a  while;  .and  besides,  there  was 
something  about  him  that  made  him  look  pretty 
valuable.     I  had  not  recognized  his   whistling 
yet,  so  Slim  looked  to  be  the  right  name  for  him. 
"  Slim,  what's  that  big  cupboard  for?  ' 
"  How'd  I  know?     Nuthin'  in  it." 
"  Slim,  that  would  make  a  fine  box  for  coal 
or  wood,  wouldn't  it?  " 


o 

*. 
<o 

£ 


I 

Si 
o 


£> 


"  Um.    Whar  de  coal  an'  wood?  " 
"I'm  going  out  and  take  observations,  Slim. 
Take  the  wheel  while  I'm  gone,  and  keep  your 
eye  peeled  for  U-boats."    So  I  sneaked  out  the 
door,  and  began  looking  around. 

If  you  look  at  the  sketch  I  have  made,  it  will 
not  take  you  long  to  see  that  next  to  us  was  a 
vacated  Russian  barracks.  And  it  did  not  take 
me  much  longer  to  see  it,  too.  Back  to  the 
hospital  and  Slim. 

"  Slim,  what  barracks  are  next  to  us?  " 
"  Russian  burracks,  only  dey  ain't  dere  now. 
Been  sick." 

"  And  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  don't  know 
where  to  get  wood?  " 
"  Sick  men  been  in  dem  burrucks." 
"  Sick  men  here,  aren't  there?  Let's  go." 
That  did  the  trick.  The  black  boy  would 
watch  from  the  hospital  windows  until  he  saw 
the  coast  was  clear,  then  we  would  slip  into  the 
barracks  next  door,  and  he  would  watch  again. 
When  there  was  no  sentry  near  enough  to  hear 
us,  crash!  and  out  would  come  a  dividing  board 
from  the  bunks.  When  we  had  an  armful  apiece, 
and  had  broken  them  up  to  the  right  lengths,  all 
we  needed  was  a  little  more  watching,  and  then 
back  to  the  hospital  and  the  big  cupboard.  Later 
on,  our  men  told  me  they  used  to  watch  the 
smoke  that  poured  from  the  hospital  chimney  all 
the  time,  and  wonder  where  on  earth  we  got  the 
wood. 

We  got  the  same  kind  of  food  in  the  hospital 
that  was  served  in  the  other  barracks,  and  I 


292  Gunner  Depew 

would  not  have  had  any  more  than  I  used  to, 
except  that  sometimes,  some  of  the  twenty-six 
patients  could  not  eat  their  share,  and  then, 
of  course,  it  was  mine.  One  day,  though,  we  all 
had  extra  rations. 

Two  Russian  doctors  came  to  visit  us  each 
day,  and  once  they  were  foolish  enough,  or  kind 
enough,  to  ask  if  we  had  received  our  rations  — 
we  had  received  them  earlier  than  usual  and  they 
were  finished  at  the  time.  Of  course,  I  said 
no,  so  they  ordered  the  Russian  in  the  kitchen 
to  deliver  twenty-eight  rations  to  us,  which  was 
not  quite  three  loaves  of  bread.  We  were  that 
much  ahead  that  day,  but  it  would  not  work 
when  I  tried  the  trick  again. 

One  day  a  German  doctor  came  to  the  hospital 
barracks.  He  would  not  touch  anything  while 
he  was  there  —  not  even  open  the  door.  All 
of  the  patients  had  little  cards  attached  to  their 
beds  —  charts  of  their  condition.  When  the  Ger- 
man wanted  to  see  these  charts,  the  Russian 
doctors  had  to  hold  them  for  him. 

I  was  having  a  great  time  at  the  hospital, 
wrecking  the  barracks  next  door  each  day  for 
wood,  along  with  Kate,  and  getting  a  little  more 
food  sometimes,  and  was  always  nice  and  warm. 
I  thought  myself  quite  a  pet.  Compared  to  what 
I  had  been  up  against,  it  seemed  like  real  com- 
fort. But  the  more  food  I  got,  the  more  I 
wanted.  And  it  was  food  that  brought  me  down, 
after  all. 

Across  from  us, was  a  barracks  in  which  there 
were  English  officers,  and  somehow  it  seemed 


"  The  HeU  Hole  of  Germany  "      293 

to  me  that  they  must  have  had  a  drag.  Every 
once  in  a  while,  I  saw  what  looked  like  vegeta- 
bles, and  bags  of  something  that  was  a  dead 
ringer  for  brown  flour.  So  I  told  Slim,  or  Kate, 
as  I  was  calling  him  by  then,  and  with  him  on 
guard,  I  sneaked  out. 

After  two  or  three  false  starts,  I  got  over  our 
barbed  wire  and  their  barbed  wire,  and  in 
through  a  window. 

There  I  saw  carrots !    And  graham  flour  1 

I  took  all  I  could  carry,  to  divide  up  with 
Kate,  and  then  started  eating,  so  as  not  to  waste 
anything.  It  was  certainly  some  feast  —  the  only 
thing  besides  mud  bread  and  barley  coffee  and 
"  shadow  "  soup  that  I  had  to  eat  in  Germany. 
Then  I  started  back  to  the  hospital.  I  got  over 
their  barbed  wire  all  right,  and  Kate  gave  me 
the  go-ahead  for  our  entanglements,  but  just  as 
I  was  going  over  them,  a  sentry  nabbed  me. 
At  first  I  thought  Kate  had  turned  traitor, 
because  we  had  had  a  little  argument  a  short 
time  before,  when  I  got  tired  of  his  whistling 
and  told  him  to  eat  a  little  cuttle-fish  and  begin 
moulting. 

But  later  on,  I  figured  that  he  would  not  have 
done  a  trick  like  that,  and  besides,  he  knew  I 
was  bringing  him  something  to  eat.  So  the 
sentry  must  have  sneaked  up  without  Kate  seeing 
him.  Who  got  the  carrots  and  graham  flour  that 
I  was  carrying,  I  do  not  know.  The  sentries 
booted  me  all  the  way  back  to  my  old  barracks. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
DESPAIE  — AND  FREEDOM 

While  I  was  working  at  the  hospital,  conditions 
at  my  old  barracks  had  been  getting  worse  and 
worse.  Very  few  of  the  men  were  absolutely 
right  in  the  head,  I  guess,  and  almost  all  had 
given  up  hope  of  ever  getting  out  alive.  Though 
they  put  up  a  good  front  to  the  Huns,  they  really 
did  not  care  a  great  deal  what  happened  to 
them.  The  only  thing  to  think  about  was  the 
minute  they  were  living  in. 

The  day  I  came  back,  two  Englishmen,  who 
had  suddenly  gone  mad,  commenced  to  fight  each 
other.  It  was  the  most  terrible  fight  I  have  ever 
seen.  It  was  some  time  before  the  rest  of  us 
could  make  them  quit,  because  at  first,  we  did 
not  know  they  were  crazy.  When  we  had  them 
down,  however,  they  were  scratched  and  bitten 
and  pounded  from  head  to  foot.  Both  of  them 
bled  from  the  nose  all  that  night,  and  toward 
morning,  one  of  them  became  sane  for  a  few 
minutes  and  then  died.  The  other  was  taken 
away  by  the  Germans,  still  crazy. 

Another  time  an  Australian  came  into  our 
barracks,  and  very  seriously  told  us  that  he  had 
a  drag  with  the  German  officers  and  that  he  had 
been  to  dinner  with  them,  and  had  had  turkey, 

294 


Despair  —  and  Freedom  295 

potatoes,  coffee,  butter,  eggs,  sugar  in  his  coffee, 
and  all  the  luxuries  you  could  think  of.  We 
just  sat  and  stared  at  him.  It  seemed  impos- 
sible that  any  of  our  own  men  would  have  the 
gall  to  torture  us  like  that,  and  yet,  we  could 
not  possibly  believe  that  it  had  really  happened. 
Finally,  one  fellow  could  not  stand  it  any  longer. 
He  was  nothing  but  skin  and  bones,  but  he 
grabbed  a  dividing  board  and  there  were  just 
two  wallops:  the  board  hit  the  Australian's  head, 
and  the  head  hit  the  floor.  Then  half  a  dozen 
more  bounced  onto  him  and  gave  him  a  real 
licking.  When  he  came  to,  he  had  forgotten  all 
about  the  wonderful  dinner  he  did  not  have. 

Not  long  after  this,  the  Russian  doctors  proved 
to  the  Germans  that  there  was  no  black  typhus 
in  our  barracks,  and  we  were  allowed  the  free- 
dom of  the  camp,  except  that  we  could  not  visit 
the  Russian  barracks.  That  was  no  hardship  to 
me,  nor  to  the  rest  of  us,  except  one  chap  from 
the  Cambrian  Range,  who  had  a  special  pal 
among  the  Russians  that  he  wanted  to  see.  And 
of  course,  when  it  was  verboten,  he  wanted  to  see 
him  all  the  more. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  order,  I  was  standing 
outside  the  barracks  door  when  I  saw  this  fellow 
come  out,  with  a  dividing  board  in  his  hand.  I 
thought  he  was  going  to  smash  somebody  with 
it,  so  I  stood  by.  But  he  stooped  over  and 
jammed  one  end  of  the  board  against  the 
threshold  of  the  door,  scratched  the  ground 
with  the  farther  end  of  the  board,  and 
measured  again.  He  kept  this  up,  length  by 


296  Gunner  Depew 

length,  in  the  direction  of  the  Russian  barracks. 
The  sentry  in  the  yard  stopped  and  stared  at 
him,  but  the  fellow  kept  right  on,  paying  no 
attention  to  anybody.  Pretty  soon,  he  was  right 
by  the  sentry's  feet  and  I  thought  any  minute 
the  sentry  would  give  him  the  butt,  but  he  just 
stared  a  while  and  let  him  pass.  That  lad  meas- 
ured the  whole  distance  to  the  Russian  barracks, 
went  inside,  stayed  a  while,  and  calmly  strolled 
back  with  the  board  under  his  arm.  When  he 
reached  our  barracks  again,  he  told  us  he  had 
found  a  vino  mine.  What  he  really  had  found 
was  something  not  so  unusual  —  a  boneheaded 
German. 

There  was  a  lot  of  bamboo  near  the  Russian 
barracks,  and  the  Russians  made  baskets  out  of 
it  and  turned  them  in  to  the  Germans.  For 
this  they  got  all  the  good  jobs  in  the  kitchen, 
and  had  a  fine  chance  to  get  more  to  eat.  But 
they  were  treated  like  dogs  —  that  is,  all  except 
the  few  Cossacks  that  were  in  the  bunch.  The 
Huns  knew  that  a  Cossack  never  forgets,  and 
will  get  revenge  for  the  slightest  mistreatment, 
even  if  it  means  his  death.  I  have  seen  sentries 
turn  aside  from  the  beat  they  were  walking,  and 
get  out  of  the  way  when  they  saw  a  Cossack 
coming.  There  were  very  few  Cossacks  there, 
however.  I  do  not  think  they  let  themselves 
get  captured  very  often. 

We  had  roll  call  every  morning,  of  course, 
and  were  always  mustered  in  front  of  our  bar- 
racks, the  middle  of  the  line  being  right  at  the 
barracks  door.  Sometimes  when  the  cold  got 


Despair  —  and  Freedom  297 

too  much  for  them,  the  men  nearest  the  door 
would  duck  into  the  barracks.  As  they  left  the 
ranks,  the  other  men  would  close  up  and  this 
kept  the  line  even,  with  the  center  still  opposite 
the  barracks  door.  Finally,  almost  all  of  the 
men  would  be  in  the  barracks,  and  by  the  time 
the  roll  was  over,  not  one  remained  outside. 
This  seemed  to  peeve  the  German  officers  a  great 
deal,  but  they  did  not  punish  us  for  it  until  we 
had  been  doing  it  for  some  time. 

For  several  days  I  had  noticed  that  some  one 
else  answered  for  two  men  who  had  disappeared ; 
at  least,  I  had  not  seen  them  for  some  time.  I 
did  not  think  much  about  it,  or  ask  any  ques- 
tions, and  I  did  not  hear  anyone  else  talk  about 
it,  but  I  was  pretty  sure  the  two  men,  a  Russian 
and  a  Britisher,  had  escaped.  But  they  were 
marked  present  at  roll  call,  and  all  accounted  for. 
Everything  went  along  very  well,  until  one  day 
when  the  name  l '  Fontaine  ' '  got  by  without  being 
answered.  Fontaine  was  a  French  fireman  from 
the  Cambrian  Range,  and  that  was  the  first  time 
he  had  not  been  present.  We  saw  what  was 
coming,  and  we  began  to  get  pretty  sore  at  Fon- 
taine for  not  telling  us,  so  we  could  answer  for 
him  and  keep  the  escape  covered. 

The  minute  they  found  our  count  one  short, 
they  blew  the  whistles,  and  a  squad  of  sentries 
came  up  as  an  extra  guard.  They  counted  us 
again,  but  by  sneaking  back  of  the  line  and 
closing  up  again,  we  made  the  count  all  right 
except  for  one  man  —  Fontaine.  We  would  have 
tried  to  cover  up  for  him,  except  that  they  had 


298  .  Gunner  Depew 

already  discovered  his  absence.  Now,  we  thought, 
they  will  nab  Fontaine  but  will  not  discover  the 
escape  of  the  others. 

But  evidently  they  suspected  something,  for 
soon  they  brought  over  a  petty  officer  from 
H.  M.  S.  Nomad,  who  had  not  been  with  us 
before,  and  forced  him  to  call  the  roll  from  the 
mustering  papers,  while  they  watched  the  men 
as  they  answered.  Then  they  discovered  that 
two  more  besides  Fontaine  were  missing,  and 
began  to  search  for  them. 

The  other  two  spoke  German  and  had  been 
missing  for  at  least  three  days,  and,  I  think,  had 
escaped  by  this  time.  They  were  not  returned 
while  I  was  at  Brandenburg. 

This  was  about  7  a.  m.  They  drilled  us 
down  to  the  little  lake,  where  the  cold  was  much 
greater,  and  kept  us  there  until  5  p.  m.,  with- 
out food  or  drink.  At  about  8  that  morning 
they  found  Fontaine  in  a  French  barracks,  and 
kicked  him  all  the  way  to  the  lake  where  we  were. 

All  day  long  we  stood  there,  falling  one  by 
one  and  getting  kicked  or  beaten  each  time,  until 
we  dragged  ourselves  up  again.  Two  or  three 
died  —  I  do  not  know  the  exact  number.  But  we 
had  enough  strength,  when  ordered  back  to  the 
barracks,  to  kick  Fontaine  ahead  of  us  all  the 
way.  We  did  not  get  anything  to  eat  until  7  the 
next  morning  —  twenty-four  hours  without  food 
and  water,  ten  of  which  were  spent  in  the  snow 
without  any  protection  from  the  cold  and  wind. 
No  wonder  we  kicked  Fontaine  for  bringing  this 
punishment  on  us  and  endangering  the  two  who 


Despair  —  and  Freedom  299 

had  escaped  —  lie  had  simply  strolled  over  to 
the  French  barracks  and  forgot  to  return. 

Now,  the  food  received  was  just  about  enough 
to  keep  us  alive.  I  suppose,  with  true  kultur, 
the  Huns  had  figured  out  just  how  much  it  would 
take  to  keep  a  man  on  this  side  of  the  starvation 
line,  and  gave  us  that  much  and  no  more.  So 
we  were  always  famished  —  always  hungrier 
than  you  probably  ever  have  been.  But  some- 
times when  we  were  ravenously  hungry  and  could 
not  hold  out  any  longer,  we  would  trade  rations. 

One  man  would  trade  his  whole  ration  for  the 
next  day  for  a  half  ration  today.  That  is,  if  you 
you  were  so  hungry  that  you  thought  you  could 
not  last  out  the  day  on  your  regular  share,  you 
would  tell  some  one  else  that  if  he  gave  you 
half  his  share  today,  you  would  give  him  all  of 
yours  tomorrow.  If  he  was  a  gambler,  he  would 
take  you  up.  That  is,  he  would  gamble  on  his 
being  alive  tomorrow,  not  on  your  keeping  your 
word.  He  knew  you  would  come  across  with 
your  ration  the  next  day,  and  like  as  not,  if  you 
tried  to  keep  it  from  him,  he  would  kill  you, 
and  nobody  would  blame  him. 

It  certainly  was  hard,  when  the  next  day  came, 
to  give  up  your  whole  ration  and  go  without 
that  day.  But  I  never  saw  a  man  hedge,  or 
even  speak  of  it.  And  we  did  not  have  any 
food  pirates  among  us  either:  we  were  not  cap- 
tains of  industry  by  any  means. 

There  were  times  when  some  of  us  could  not 
eat  certain  of  our  rations.  For  instance,  many 
and  many  a  time  I  was  as  hungry  as  anybody 


300  Gunner  Depew 

could  be,  and  I  wanted  to  eat  my  mud  bread,  but 
it  seemed  as  if  I  could  not  get  it  into  my  mouth. 
Then  I  would  trade  it  with  some  one  else  for 
his  "  shadow  "  soup,  or  his  barley  coffee. 

We  were  dying  every  day  in  Brandenburg,  and 
after  each  death,  the  senior  men  of  that  barracks 
would  detail  twelve  of  their  number  to  go  out 
for  half  an  hour  and  dig  the  grave,  while  others 
made  little  crosses,  on  which  they  wrote  or 
carved  the  man's  name,  when  he  was  captured, 
and  his  regiment  or  ship.  In  the  middle  of  the 
cross  was  always  the  letters,  R.  I.  P.  —  Eest  in 
Peace. 

One  time  we  were  ordered  to  report  to  the 
German  doctors  for  a  serum  treatment  of  some 
kind  —  to  receive  an  injection,  in  other  words. 
There  was  no  choice  about  it  this  time,  as  we 
were  simply  herded  together  to  the  hospital 
barracks.  Now,  I  knew  what  these  things  were 
like,  and  how  brutal  the  German  doctors  were 
in  giving  an  injection,  so  I  wanted  to  be  the  very 
first  man  and  not  have  to  witness  the  other  men 
getting  theirs. 

So  I  pushed  up  to  the  head  of  the  line,  with 
the  crew  of  H.  M.  S.  Nomad,  who  had  been 
captured  in  the  Jutland  battle,  and  by  the  time 
we  got  to  the  hospital,  was  the  very  first  man 
in  line.  But  the  sentry  threw  me  back,  and 
there  were  several  men  ahead  of  me. 

Each  of  them  bared  his  chest,  and  the  doctors 
slashed  them  across  the  breast  with  a  very  thin 
knife,  so  you  can  see  that  it  was  very  painful. 
When  it  came  to  my  turn,  they  slashed  me  three 


Despair  —  and  Freedom  301 

times  in  the  shape  of  a  triangle  just  to  one 
side  of  the  breast.  And  that  was  all  there  was 
to  it:  no  injection,  nothing  on  the  knife  that  I 
could  see.  But  it  hurt  like  hell. 

Now,  I  do  not  know  what  the  idea  was.  Every 
man  of  us  was  dizzy  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  and 
could  not  do  anything  but  lay  around  the  bar- 
racks. And  hardly  any  of  us  bled  a  drop,  though 
the  gashes  were  deep.  I  do  not  think  we  had 
any  blood  in  us  to  run,  and  that  is  the  truth 
of  it.  It  was  just  another  German  trick  that  no 
one  could  explain. 

One  day  a  war  correspondent  named  Bennett, 
from  a  Chicago  paper,  came  to  the  camp,  and 
went  through  all  the  barracks.  When  he  came 
to  our  barracks,  I  told  him  I  was  an  American 
and  asked  for  the  news.  Instead  of  answering, 
he  began  to  ask  all  sorts  of  questions.  Finally, 
after  I  had  told  him  I  had  been  in  the  French 
service,  I  asked  him  if  he  could  help  me  in  any 
way.  He  answered  that  I  had  only  myself  to 
blame,  and  that  it  served  me  right,  if  I  had 
been  in  one  of  the  Allied  armies. 

I  did  not  like  his  looks  much,  and  he  seemed 
unfriendly,  but  when  he  began  smoking  a  ciga- 
rette, it  almost  drove  me  crazy,  and  I  could  not 
help  asking  for  one.  He  refused  me,  and  said  I 
should  have  stayed  in  my  own  country,  where 
I  could  have  had  plenty  of  cigarettes. 

After  a  while  he  threw  away  a  cigarette  stub, 
and  not  only  I  but  three  or  four  others,  who 
were  near,  made  a  dive  for  it.  A  man  named 
Kelley  got  it  —  a  crazy  man  who  went  around 


302  Gunner  Depew 

trying  to  eat  wood  and  cloth  and  anything  he 
could  find. 

When  my  three  weeks  were  up  and  I  had  not 
heard  from  Mr.  Gerard,  I  was  just  about  ready 
to  go  down  to  the  lake  and  pick  out  a  vacant 
spot  and  lay  down  in  it.  I  really  do  not  think 
I  could  have  lasted  two  weeks  longer.  And  just 
about  that  time,  as  I  was  walking  back  to  bar- 
racks one  day,  a  Frenchman  showed  me  a  Ger- 
man newspaper,  and  there,  in  large  type,  on  the 
top  of  the  first  page,  it  said  that  Mr.  Gerard  had 
left  the  country,  or  was  getting  ready  to  leave.* 
They  had  to  drag  me  the  rest  of  the  way  to  the 
barracks,  and  throw  snow  on  me  before  I  came  to. 

I  do  not  know  what  happened  during  the  next 
few  days. 

But  a  week  or  so  later,  the  Spanish  ambassador 
and  four  German  officers  and  Swatts  came  to  our 
barracks,  and  the  ambassador  told  me  I  would 
be  released!  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  from 
fainting  again.  Then  Swatts  asked  me  in  Eng- 
lish if  I  had  anything  to  say  about  the  treatment 
in  the  camp,  and  I  began  to  think  maybe  it  was 
a  frame-up  of  some  kind,  so  all  I  said  was, 
"  When  will  I  get  out  of  here?  "  and  he  said, 
*'  Why,  you  will  be  released  tomorrow." 

I  did  not  wait  to  hear  any  more,  but  rushed 

•Gunner  Depew's  interview  with  Mr.  Gerard  took  place  at 
the  Diilmen  prison-camp  on  or  about  February  1,  1917.  On  Feb- 
ruary 3,  our  State  Department  demanded  the  release  of  sixty- 
two  Americans  captured  on  British  vessels  and  held  as  prison- 
ers in  Germany.  On  the  same  day,  President  Wilson  severed 
diplomatic  relations  with  Germany.  Ambassador  Gerard  left 
Germany  exactly  one  week  later.  The  newspaper  that  Gunner 
Depew  saw  must  have  been  issued  after  February  10.  It  was 
not  until  March  9,  1917,  however,  that  Gunner  Depew  was 
actually  released  from  Brandenburg. — EDITOR'S  NOTE. 


Despair  —  and  Freedom  303 

into  the  barracks  again,  singing  and  whistling 
and  yelling  as  loud  as  I  could.  The  boys  told 
me  my  face  was  very  red,  and  I  guess  what 
little  blood  I  had  in  my  body  had  rushed  to  my 
head,  because  I  could  hardly  walk  for  a  few 
minutes. 

Then  the  men  began  to  think  I  was  crazy,  and 
none  of  them  believed  I  would  really  be  released, 
but  that  I  was  going  to  be  sent  to  the  mines,  as 
so  many  were.  But  I  believed  it,  and  I  just  sat 
there  on  my  bunk  and  began  to  dream  of  the 
food  I  would  get,  and  what  I  would  eat  first,  and 
so  on. 

I  did  not  go  to  sleep  that  night  —  just  walked 
from  barracks  to  barracks  until  they  chased  me 
away,  and  then  walked  up  and  down  in  my  own 
barracks  the  rest  of  the  night.  When  I  got  to 
the  Russian  barracks  and  told  the  two  doctors 
my  news,  they  would  not  believe  me  at  all, 
although  they  knew  there  had  been  some  impor- 
tant visitor  at  the  camp 

But  when  I  walked  out  of  their  door,  I  said, 
"  Dobra  vetshq,v,"  which  means  "  Good  night!  " 
Then  they  must  have  believed  me,  for  they  called 
me  back,  and  all  the  men  gave  me  addresses  of 
people  to  write  to,  in  case  I  should  get  away. 

They  were  all  talking  at  once,  and  one  of  the 
doctors  got  very  excited  and  got  down  on  his 
knees  with  his  hands  in  the  air.  "  Albert,"  he 
said,  "  if  you  have  the  God-given  luck  to  get 
out  of  Germany  —  not  for  my  sake,  but  for  the 
sake  of  us  who  are  here  in  this  hell-hole,  promise 
me  you  will  tell  all  the  people  wherever  you  go 


304  Gunner  Depew 

what  they  are  doing  to  us  here.  Tell  them  not 
to  send  money,  for  we  can't  eat  money,  and  not 
meat  —  just  bread,  bread,  bread " 

And  when  I  looked  around,  all  the  men  were 
sitting  on  their  beds,  crying  and  tearing  their 
hair  and  saying,  "  bread,  bread,  bread,"  over 
and  over  again.  Then  each  tried  to  give  me 
something,  as  if  to  say  that  even  if  they  did  not 
get  out,  perhaps  thfcir  button  or  belt  or  skull-cap 
would  get  back  to  civilization. 

When  I  left  their  barracks,  I  began  to  cry, 
because  it  did  not  seem  possible  that  I  was 
going  away,  and  already  I  could  see  them  starv- 
ing slowly,  just  as  I  had  been  starving. 

The  next  morning  a  sentry  came  to  my  bar- 
racks, called  out  my  name  and  took  me  to  the 
commander  of  the  camp.  They  searched  me,  and 
then  drilled  me  back  to  barracks  again.  Then 
the  men  all  thought  they  were  just  playing  a 
joke  on  me,  and  they  said  so. 

The  same  thing  happened  the  next  day,  and 
when  one  of  the  men  said  that  probably  I  would 
be  slammed  up  against  a  wall  and  shot,  I  began 
to  feel  shaky,  I  can  tell  you. 

But  the  third  morning,  after  they  had  searched 
me,  the  commander  said,  "  Well,  you'll  have  to 
have  a  bath  before  you  leave  the  country,"  and 
I  was  so  glad  that  I  did  not  mind  about  the 
bath,  although  I  remembered  the  last  one  I  had, 
and  it  did  not  agree  very  well  with  me.  After 
the  bath,  they  drilled  me  out  into  the  road. 

There  were  four  sentries  with  me,  but  not 
Swatts,  nor  did  I  see  him  anywhere  around,  for 


Despair  —  and  Freedom  305 

which  I  was  sorry.  But  all  the  boys  came  down 
to  the  barbed  wire,  or  to  the  gate,  and  some  were 
crying,  and  others  were  cheering,  and  all  of  them 
were  very  much  excited.  But  after  a  minute  or 
two,  they  got  together  again  and  the  last  thing 
I  heard  was  the  song  about  packing  up  your  old 
kit  bag,  and  then,  "  Are  we  downhearted!  — 
No!  "  They  were  certainly  game  lads. 

They  did  not  take  me  straight  to  the  station, 
but  took  me  through  all  the  streets  they  could 
find,  and  as  usual,  the  women  were  there  with 
the  bricks  and  spit.  But  I  did  not  mind:  I  was 
used  to  it,  and  besides,  it  was  the  last  time.  So 
I  just  grinned  at  them,  and  thought  that  I  was 
better  off  than  they,  because  they  had  to  stay  in 
the  hole  called  Germany. 

I  was  still  half  naked,  but  I  did  not  mind  the 
two-hour  wait  on  the  station  platform.  I  noticed 
a  little  sign  that  read,  "  Berlin  25  miles  north," 
and  that  was  the  first  time  I  had  much  of  an 
idea  where  Brandenburg  was. 

When  we  got  into  the  compartment  and  I 
found  that  the  windows  were  not  smashed,  I 
could  not  believe  it  at  first,  until  I  remembered 
that  this  was  not  a  prisoner-train.  We  had  a 
forty-eight  hour  ride  to  Lindau,  which  is  on  the 
Lake  of  Constance,  and  no  food  or  water  in 
that  time.  But  still  I  did  not  mind  it  much. 
At  Lindau,  they  drilled  me  into  a  little  house, 
and  took  away  all  the  addresses  that  I  had, 
and  then  marched  me  over  to  the  little  boat 
which  crosses  the  lake. 

As  I  started  up  the  gangway,  the  last  thing 


306  Gunner  Depew 

I   received  in   Germany  reached  me  —  a  crack 
across  the  back  with  a  rifle! 

The  women  and  children  on  the  dock  had  their 
fists  up  and  were  yelling,  "  American  swine!  " 
But  I  just  laughed  at  them.  And  when  I  looked 
around  the  boat  and  saw  no  German  soldiers  — 
only  Swiss  civilians  —  I  rubbed  my  eyes  and 
could  not  believe  it.  When  they  gave  me  bread, 
which  was  what  I  had  decided  I  wanted  most 
of  all  back  in  the  camp,  I  thought  I  was  in 
heaven  sure  enough,  and  when,  forty-five  minutes 
later,  we  arrived  at  Rorschach  in  Switzerland, 
I  finally  knew  I  was  free. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
BACK  IN  THE  STATES 

After  I  arrived  at  Horseback,  I  was  taken  to 
a  large  hall,  where  I  remained  over  night  There 
were  three  American  flags  on  the  walls,  the 
first  I  had  seen  in  a  long  time.  I  certainly  did 
a  fine  job  of  sleeping  that  night.  I  think  I 
slept  twice  as  fast  to  make  up  for  lost  time. 

In  the  morning  I  had  a  regular  banquet  for  a 
breakfast  —  eggs,  coffee,  bread  and  a  small  glass 
of  wine.  Even  now,  although  I  never  pass  up 
a  meal,  that  breakfast  is  still  easy  to  taste,  and 
I  sometimes  wish  I  could  enjoy  another  meal 
as  much.  But  I  guess  I  never  shall  have  one 
that  goes  as  good. 

After  breakfast  they  took  me  out  on  the  steps 
of  the  hall  and  photographed  me,  after  which 
I  went  to  the  railway  station,  with  a  young  mob 
at  my  heels.  It  reminded  me  a  bit  of  Germany 
—  it  was  so  different.  Instead  of  bricks  and 
bayonet  jabs,  the  mob  gave  me  cigarettes  and 
chocolate  and  sandwiches.  They  also  handed  me 
questions  —  enough  to  keep  me  busy  answering 
to  this  day  if  I  could. 

I  got  on  the  train  to  Zurich,  and  at  every 
stop  on  the  way  there  were  more  presents  and 
more  cameras  and  more  questions.  At  St. 

307 


308  Gunner  Depew 

Gallon,  they  had  cards  ready  for  me  to  write 
on,  and  then  they  were  going  to  send  them  to 
anybody  I  wished.  The  station  at  Ziirich  was 
packed  with  people,  and  I  began  to  think  I  was 
a  star  for  sure. 

Francis  B.  Keene,  the  American  consul-general 
at  Zurich,  and  his  assistant,  were  there  to  meet 
me.  We  walked  a  few  blocks  to  his  office,  and 
all  the  way,  the  cameras  were  clicking  and  the 
chocolates  and  cigarettes  piling  up  until  I  felt 
like  Santa  Claus  on  December  24th.  After  a 
little  talk  with  Mr.  Keene,  he  took  me  to  the 
Stussehof  Hotel,  where  my  wounds  were  dressed 
—  and  believe  me,  they  needed  it. 

The  Swiss  certainly  treated  me  well.  Every 
time  I  came  out  on  the  streets  they  followed  me 
around,  and  they  used  to  give  me  money.  But 
the  money  might  just  as  well  have  been  leather 
or  lead  —  I  could  not  spend  it.  Whenever  I 
wanted  to  buy  anything,  the  shopkeeper  would 
make  me  a  present  of  it. 

I  also  visited  the  Hotel  Baur  au  Lac,  the  home 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harold  McConnick  of  Chicago, 
who  are  doing  such  fine  work  with  the  Bed 
Cross  and  are  looking  after  the  Belgian  and 
French  refugees  in  Switzerland.  It  was  a  din- 
ner, and  much  appreciated  by  one  guest,  at  least. 
I  need  not  mention  his  name,  but  he  ate  so 
much  that  he  felt  ashamed  afterwards. 

I  do  not  think  he  got  in  bad  for  it,  though,  for 
afterwards  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McConnick  each  gave 
him  a  valuable  present,  which  he  needed  badly. 
After  the  dinner  Mrs.  McConnick  made  a  little 


SEAMAN'S  IDKNTIHIYFIOX  CKRTIFICAT 


(To  be  limed  only  I"  scamtt,    uming  American  citizenship.) 
(See  General  InslructiiXNo.  474.  July  >2.  1916.1 


cocr  over  right  arc 

Tins  ,,ai*r  IH  i>,u«,l  For  pur|.,i^-  f.l  temj 


identification  only,  uutil  the  holder  is  able 
Ti,  upon  producing  tin    necessary  <ioruuieiitarv 


my  signature  and   the  seal  of  tin-  ••',{<>•*•  tlii.-- 


• 

,< 


enient  concernii7^))8   birthplace,  residence   (nstaralitati 


Back  in  the  States  309 

patriotic  speech,  in  which  she  said  that  the  Huns 
would  never  trample  on  the  United  States  flag, 
and  some  other  things  that  made  all  the  Ameri- 
cans there  very  proud,  especially  Mr.  Keene  and 
myself.  So  you  can  see  I  was  having  a  great 
time. 

But  the  crowd  that  I  drew  was  nothing  to  the 
mob  that  followed  a  big  negro  all  around.  I  do 
not  know  who  he  was,  and  when  we  talked,  I 
could  not  understand  him,  but  he  certainly  was 
the  F.  X.  Bushman  of  that  place.  Wherever  I 
saw  a  big  crowd  of  people,  I  knew  he  was  in 
the  middle  of  it,  and  when  I  caught  sight  of 
him,  he  was  sure  to  have  both  hands  loaded  with 
presents.  I  figured  that  negroes  were  scarce  in 
Switzerland.  What  a  treat  it  would  be  for  a 
Swiss  to  visit  the  black  belt  down  south! 

But  I  was  having  a  little  trouble,  all  the  time, 
for  this  reason :  there  were  quite  a  few  Germans 
interned  in  Zurich,  and  they  went  about  in  uni- 
form. Now,  when  I  saw  one  of  these  birds  and 
remembered  what  had  been  happening  to  me  just 
a  short  time  before,  my  hands  began  to  itch. 
Believe  me,  it  was  not  "  good  morning  "  that 
I  said  to  them.  I  enjoyed  it  all  right;  they  were 
not  in  squads  and  had  no  arms,  so  it  was  hand 
to  hand,  and  pie  for  me. 

But  Mr.  Keene  did  not  like  it,  I  guess,  for  he 
called  me  to  his  office  one  morning  and  bawled 
me  out  for  a  while,  and  I  promised  to  be  good. 
"  You're  supposed  to  be  neutral,"  he  said.  And 
I  said,  "  Yes,  and  when  I  was  torpedoed  and 
taken  prisoner,  I  was  supposed  to  be  neutral, 


310  Gunner  Depew 

too."  But  I  said  I  would  not  look  for  trouble 
any  more,  and  started  back  to  the  hotel. 

But  no  sooner  was  I  under  way  than  a  Hun 
private  came  along  and  began  to  laugh  at  me. 
My  hands  itched  again,  and  I  could  not  help  but 
slam  him  a  few.  We  went  round  and  round  for 
a  while,  and  then  the  Hun  reversed  and  went 
down  instead.  Mr.  Keene  saw  us,  or  heard  about 
it,  so  he  told  me  I  had  better  go  to  Berne. 

So  off  I  went,  with  my  passport.  But  the 
same  thing  happened  in  Berne.  I  tried  very 
hard,  but  I  just  could  not  keep  my  hands  off 
the  Germans.  So  I  guess  everybody  thought  it 
was  a  good  thing  to  tell  me  good-bye  —  anyway, 
I  was  shipped  into  France,  going  direct  to  St. 
Nazaire  and  from  there  to  Brest. 

I  made  a  short  trip  to  Hull,  England,  with  a 
letter  from  a  man  at  Brandenburg  to  his  wife. 
She  was  not  at  home,  but  I  left  the  letter  and 
returned  to  France.  I  was  in  France  altogether 
about  three  weeks,  and  then  went  to  Barcelona, 
Spain. 

There  I  met  Jack  Johnson,  the  negro  prize 
fighter,  and  went  to  a  bull  fight  with  him.  He 
has  been  run  out  of  several  countries,  and  it  may 
be  that  he  has  left  Spain  by  this  time.  He  was 
in  the  insurance  business  there,  but  did  not  seem 
to  be  very  popular.  About  the  first  thing  he 
asked  me  was,  "  How's  Chicago?  "  and  as  I 
had  never  been  there  at  the  time,  I  could  not 
give  him  very  much  dope.  I  did  not  advise 
him  to  return  to  the  States. 

Then,  I  took  passage  for  the  States  on  the 


Back  in  the  States  311 

C.  Lopez  y  Lopez,  a  Spanish  merchantman.  We 
had  mostly  "  Spigs  "  on  board,  which  is  navy 
slang  for  Spaniards.  Almost  every  one  of  them 
had  a  large  family  of  children  and  a  raft  of 
pets.  We  sailed  down  through  Valencia,  Almeria, 
Malaga,  Cadiz,  and  Las  Palmas  in  the  Canary 
Islands.  When  we  left  Las  Palmas,  we  had  a 
regular  menagerie  aboard  —  parrots,  canary 
birds,  dogs,  monkeys  and  various  beasts.  The 
steerage  of  that  boat  was  some  sight,  believe  me. 

We  had  boat  drill  all  the  way  across,  of  course, 
and  from  the  way  those  Spigs  rushed  about,  I 
knew  that  if  a  submarine  got  us,  the  only  thing 
that  would  be  saved  would  be  monkeys.  But 
we  did  not  even  have  a  false  alarm  all  the  way 
over. 

I  arrived  in  New  York  during  the  month  of 
July,  1917  —  two  years  and  a  half  from  the 
time  I  decided  to  go  abroad  to  the  War  Zone 
to  get  some  excitement.  I  got  it,  and  no  mis- 
take. New  York  harbor  and  the  old  Statue  of 
Liberty  looked  mighty  good  to  me,  you  can  bet. 

So  here  I  am,  and  sometimes  I  have  to  pinch 
myself  to  be  sure  of  it.  I  certainly  enjoy  the 
food  and  warmth  I  get  here,  and  except  for 
an  occasional  pro-German,  I  have  no  trouble 
with  anybody.  My  wounds  break  open  once  in 
a  while,  and  I  am  often  bothered  inside,  on 
account  of  the  gas  I  swallowed.  They  say  I 
cannot  get  back  into  the  service.  It  is  tough 
to  be  knocked  out  before  our  own  boys  get  into 
the  scrap. 

But  I  do  not  know.    I  am  twenty-three  years 


312  Gunner  Depew 

old,  and  probably  have  a  lot  to  live  yet.  I  gueee 
I  ought  to  settle  down  and  be  quiet  for  a  while, 
but  comfortable  as  I  am,  I  think  I  will  have  to 
go  to  sea  again.  I  think  of  it  many  times,  and 
each  time  it  is  harder  to  stay  ashore. 


ie  fighting,  laughing  Jimerican  bailor  DOif 


unne- 


Bynimse 


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